


The Configuration of a Root System

by engine



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Do Not Let Us Die In The Dark Night Of This Cold Winter (Spring in Hieron), Friends to Lovers, M/M, Season: Spring in Hieron, Slow Burn, Spring in Hieron Spoilers, Winter in Hieron Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engine/pseuds/engine
Summary: Sometimes it isn’t love at first sight. Sometimes, over the course of many years, love grows all on its own. No one would have guessed the end of the world would be particularly fertile soil, but, much like a tree growing from the side of a cliff, even the most difficult terrain is surprisingly capable of supporting life.
Relationships: Ephrim/Throndir (Friends at the Table)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> when i started this fic, it was originally two fics—one about cold winter, and one set after alcyon—and included significantly less angst. then i realized i could combine them for a better story, and i’m thrilled with the result. hopefully you all enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it! huge thanks to angie for the constant support and yelling comments in the gdoc and promising me that the story was good as i frantically tried to finish it.
> 
> a couple quick notes: 
> 
> 1) i’ve used dialog from the show, with edits, at various points throughout the fic. some of the changes are more minimal than others.  
> 2) in part 1, blue jay hasn’t changed their pronouns yet, but the change is reflected in part 2.  
> 3) there’s also some canon-typical violence and body horror, especially regarding ephrim’s arm and injuries. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading!!!

_Year 0 —_

There was a sun in the sky again. 

A real sun this time, warm on his skin after months of cold, dark winter. Throndir welcomed it as he walked away from Fero, boots crunching in the snow. It calmed something in him, reminding him of those rare days when the blizzards around Auniq would calm enough for the sun to peek through the clouds. On those days, Throndir and Kodiak would venture into the woods, tracking animals for the fun of it, just to prove they could. Unlike so much in his life, those were good memories, and they warmed him on the inside just as the sun warmed his face.

If Fero was going to behave like this, Throndir wasn’t interested in anything he had to say. Maybe he’d made the wrong decision when he’d demanded Arrell bring Benjamin out of the bubble. Maybe if he’d had a child himself, he would have felt differently. But something in Throndir’s gut told him he’d done the right thing; there were too many people Arrell had already harmed, and too many that he would inevitably harm in the future, and Throndir had long learned to trust his instincts.

He didn’t have a clear idea of where he was going, just away from Fero, so it was Kodiak, barking low, who drew his attention as they passed by one of the bonfires set up around Corsica’s encampment.

Ephrim sat on a log bench, hunched over with a sword that Throndir didn’t recognize hanging loosely in his left hand. He stared into the flames, gaze unfocused, and for a moment, Throndir debated leaving him alone. Certainly Throndir could understand the need to be alone after everything that had happened, and he didn’t know Ephrim well enough to guess if he’d be okay with company. But Kodiak nudged at his leg, urging him forward, and Throndir sighed. He walked over slowly, purposefully making noise so Ephrim wouldn’t be startled by his appearance.

It was only after he reached the other side of the fire that he noticed the blood. There was more than what had stained them both after their fight with Arrell—it was dried all over Ephrim’s clothes, and on the blade, too. If Fero hadn’t been so distracting, Throndir would have noticed both the blood and the expression in Ephrim’s face sooner. That look was unmistakable: the hopelessness, the emptiness. Throndir had seen it in some of the other snow elves who were like him, before he left Auniq. He’d seen in his own reflection sometimes, late at night, after he’d first fled to Velas.

“You okay?” Throndir asked, voice just loud enough to hear over the crackling of the fire. 

Ephrim looked up at him, blank-faced, as if he hadn’t processed what Throndir had said. 

“Because you don’t look okay,” Throndir continued, punctuated by a whine from Kodiak, who nudged at Ephrim’s empty hand. Ephrim winced, but pressed the back of his knuckles against Kodiak’s face.

“Um,” Ephrim said, his voice rough, like he was trying to hold it together. “You know, honestly? Not really.”

“Yeah, the sword was kind of a hint,” Throndir said as he sat down next to Ephrim. “Where’d you even get that?”

“Rosemerrow,” Ephrim said. “Under the museum? I didn’t realize what it was, but then Lem got the hilt from that cult, and Uklan told us about Marielda, and I realized—”

He tilted the blade so the edge caught the firelight. For a moment, it glowed as bright as the sun. Ephrim sighed, turning the sword away, and the glow dissipated, leaving behind a simple sword of impeccable craftsmanship, still covered in blood.

“The Cult of the Dark Sun,” he said, so quietly that his voice was nearly drowned out by the fire. “You know how it was actually ‘ _son_ ’?”

Throndir thought about that dinner down below, on the Buoy, and the moment it had all clicked together for them. He thought about the two swords—one made from the Dark, carried by Hella, the other shining gold, forged by Samothes, long missing—and finally realized whose blood must be on Ephrim’s armor.

“Ephrim,” Throndir started, but he didn’t know what else to say. How did you ask someone if they killed a god?

“He brought me back to life,” Ephrim continued. “When we were going to the New Archives. And he gave me this—this power. My fire was different. The Heat—it was different, but I didn’t even think about it. It was my duty to follow his will. So I didn’t think about it until Uklan—and when I put the sword together, I went to his forge. And he handed me his hammer and he told me to break it. To break this sword that Samothes made. He had Exarch Alyosha, and he was building things with the Heat and the Dark, and he told me that I was _his_ , and I just—”

Ephrim shivered, but not from the chill in the air.

“It was all a lie, Throndir,” he said, his voice cracking. “The church, my—my destiny, or whatever. It was all a lie to get me to spread the Heat and the Dark for him. And then he did this.”

Ephrim moved his hand away from where it rested against Kodiak and held out his palm, fingers spread wide. In the center of his palm was… nothing. Literal _nothing_ , an absence of skin and blood and bones, the emptiness of the void. An imperfect circle clawing through Ephrim the same way it clawed through reality. Throndir’s stomach dropped as he realized what it was.

“One last gift,” Ephrim said, his voice somewhere between sarcasm and sorrow, “from my lord Samothes.”

Kodiak let out another whine and pushed beneath Ephrim’s arm to drop his big head on Ephrim’s lap. Around them, the sounds of Corsica Neue’s camp fell away, regular life and war so far removed from the dark forge of a reborn god. Throndir didn’t have a connection to Samothes beyond his respect for Hadrian, but he understood that feeling of betrayal, that feeling of loss, of knowing things would never be the same again no matter how much you wished they would. 

“I took the sword out to clean it,” Ephrim said, his voice now barely above a whisper. “And then I saw the blood.”

Slowly, Throndir reached over, and wrapped his hand around Ephrim’s right wrist, pressing his thumb against the heartbeat there. 

“I don’t know if this means anything to you,” Throndir said, ducking his head to catch Ephrim’s eyes. “We haven’t really had a chance to get to know each other well. But I know right from wrong, Ephrim. And if it _does_ mean anything, I think you did the right thing. Sometimes being a hero means making the hard decisions, you know? The ones no one wants to make—the ones no one else _can_ make. That’s what the Golden Lance does, and that’s what I did with Arrell and Benjamin, and that’s what you did with Samothes. And if he was going to bring the Heat and the Dark here sooner, there wasn’t any other choice to make.”

Ephrim sighed, long and slow and a little shaky. His expression was fractured at the edges, his eyes a little glassy, but he didn’t cry. He clenched his fist once, wincing a little, like the darkness hurt, and then nodded. 

“I’ll be fine, I think,” he said, looking down at Kodiak. “I just need to—to sit with it for a bit.”

“No rush,” Throndir said, pulling his hand away and leaning back. Snow had started falling gently from the sky, almost picturesque, small flurries melting before they hit the bonfire. They melted when they landed on Ephrim, too, leaving damp trails on his face. “The Last University is pretty far away. You’ve got plenty of time.”

Ephrim smiled, a little strained but very pretty, curling his arm around Kodiak as he looked up at the sky. A cloud had shifted to mostly cover the sun as snow continued to fall, but the light that still shone through illuminated Ephrim’s face.

“Yeah,” he said, closing his eyes against the light. “Thanks, Throndir.”

-

True to form, Red Jack set up a small, temporary bar just outside the stables not long after they arrived at the University. Throndir had started stopping by in between his endless duties to check in, but it had taken days for him to actually sit and enjoy a drink. He felt like he deserved the break after a day of organizing guard shifts and hunting parties. The work reminded him of life in Auniq, except instead of doing whatever he was told, _he_ was the one in charge. It was more than a little surreal. Not that long ago he wouldn’t have ever considered himself a leader. He still didn’t, really, but there wasn’t anyone else who could do it. At this point—why shouldn’t it be him?

“I need a drink,” Ephrim said, sitting down on the rickety stool next to Throndir. Red Jack had pulled the seating, along with an old desk for his bartop, out of one of the classrooms they were repurposing for supply storage. Although they’d lost a little integrity over the years, none of the legs had snapped yet. Throndir considered that a pretty good sign. Compared to some of what they’d found so far, these were practically like new. 

“Long day?” Throndir asked, laughing a little at how desperately Ephrim took the drink from Red Jack.

“It’s always a long day when people are relying on you,” Red Jack said. “But your shoulders are strong. You can handle that weight.”

“You sure about that?” Ephrim said, in a rare moment of doubt. He usually worked hard to keep that hidden.

“It is the job you have, whether you like it or not,” Red Jack said. “Some of these people have leaders, yes, but you two brought them here. You have organized the beds and medicine, food stores and security. You have raised the star wall and given them hope. They will look to you for everything now, whether you want them to or not.”

“Thanks Red Jack,” Ephrim said sarcastically. “Adding even more pressure really helps.” He took a long drink, jaw tilting back, and the torch light caught on the metal plates decorating his armor. Throndir had seen it often enough during their journey to the University that the differences immediately stood out. Once, the metal had been engraved with delicate filigree and the symbol of Samothes. Now it was smooth and utilitarian, no longer flashy and ornate.

“Your armor,” Throndir said, before he could think better of bringing up an undoubtedly sore subject. “When did you do that?”

“Um, just now,” Ephrim said, hands gripping his cup tightly as he placed it back on the table. He had a bandage wrapped around the entirety of his right palm, his wound hidden from sight. “It just didn’t seem—I couldn’t wear it anymore.” He looked down at his drink, then at Red Jack, and finally at Throndir. “I couldn’t look at it anymore.”

Red Jack turned away to rinse out some of his cups and bottles in a bucket, giving them an illusion of privacy. Ephrim seemed to appreciate it, and Throndir saw some of the tension in his shoulders ease. 

“Those fire powers are pretty handy, huh?” Throndir said, leaning forward against the makeshift bar. When Ephrim didn’t say anything, Throndir kept talking. “You know, after I first left Auniq, everything I saw made me think about it. I kept wanting to share things with my friends or my dad, tell them about the cool new food I was trying, or how different all the buildings were. Everything in Velas was so _tall_.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t get _better_ , but it gets easier. My dad still won’t talk to me. It is what it is. I already made my position clear when I went back to help the goblins, and I don’t regret that.”

“Okay, but didn’t your council want to, like, cut you open or whatever?” Ephrim said, raising an eyebrow. “They’re lucky we let them stay here at all.”

“See? You’re _great_ at being in charge,” Throndir said, amused at the thought of how the old Auniq Council would react if Ephrim kicked them out. “I’ve got no idea why you’re so worried.”

“I’m not worried!” Ephrim said, cheeks flushing pink. “It’s just a lot of pressure!”

“You did sound a little bit worried,” Red Jack said, matter of fact, and Throndir laughed, louder than he’d laughed in a while, unable to stop even when Ephrim smacked him in the arm. 

“Whatever,” Ephrim said, something of the Eternal Prince returning to his expression, arrogant and so sure of his place in the world. “See if I save you any leftovers next time you’re late for breakfast.”

“Aw, come on,” Throndir said, getting his laughter under control. “You wouldn’t deprive Kodiak of a meal, would you?”

“Who said anything about Kodiak?” Ephrim grinned when Kodiak barked from where he was laying on the ground next to Throndir. “Kodiak has never once made fun of me. Of course he’ll always have breakfast.”

“Now you’re just being mean.”

Ephrim gave him an unimpressed look. “Do you even _need_ to eat anymore?”

“Well, no,” Throndir said. “But I _like_ to eat, Ephrim.”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem, Throndir,” Ephrim said, smirking. “Especially if you’re going to call me bossy.”

“It isn’t _my_ problem either,” Red Jack said, his arms crossed. He looked entertained by them, but then again, Red Jack was entertained by most things. “Unless you plan on having another drink, of course.”

“You’re both so generous tonight,” Throndir said, but he pushed himself up, Kodiak following suit a step behind. “I should get going anyway. I need to check on the night watch and make sure they’re doing what I told them to do.”

The sharpness in Ephrim’s expression softened and he nodded. “The gnolls, right?”

“Yup,” Throndir said, putting a hand briefly on Ephrim’s shoulder before turning away. “I’ll see you in the morning, Ephrim. Promise I won’t be late to breakfast.”

-

_Year 1 —_

Ever since Ephrim had crashed—literally—into the underground garden, he’d taken it upon himself to turn it into something useful. Whenever Throndir couldn’t find him on the University grounds, he was in the grotto, crouched among the weeds, directing the volunteers who’d offered him their help. From what Throndir could tell, Ephrim found this task both an extension of his duties and something of a hobby. At the very least, he always looked more relaxed after he’d spent a couple of hours down there, similar to the way Throndir felt after going out into the woods. 

It was where Throndir found him now, standing at the end of the path they’d cleared leading to the wellspring. Most of the garden was still overgrown, a sign of its long abandonment, but Ephrim stood by a few rows of orderly plants sprouting out of tilled soil, and Throndir recognized them as all having medicinal properties. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“I was looking for you,” Throndir said as Kodiak trotted over to Ephrim, eagerly sniffing at the moss under their feet. Ephrim patted Kodiak on the back before turning to face Throndir as he walked over. “We made some progress on the storeroom. Couldn’t salvage anything, but we cleared away the bigger pieces of debris, so we’ve got a little bit of space back.”

“We’ll need to figure something out,” Ephrim said, frowning. “If we can’t store food—”

“I know,” Throndir said. He sighed and crossed his arms. “But we don’t have enough good stone to rebuild the spots where the roof pulled down the walls, and we don’t have enough lumber to make a new shed. Not after repairing the floors in the dormitories. And we _had_ to do that. It wasn’t safe.”

Ephrim sighed too, short and annoyed. “Obviously, but Red Jack’s right. It’s going to be bad in the long run if we don’t do anything.”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” Throndir said. “Hey. It really does look good down here. You got a lot done.”

“There’s still a ways to go,” Ephrim said, tugging at his gloves. He’d started wearing them all the time now to hide his wound, and this pair was already patched and faded, stained with dirt, clearly not made for working in a garden. “Most of this stuff is just weeds. They choked out a lot of what was growing here before, but if we can make the space for it, we should be able to grow some food along with herbs. Root vegetables, things like that.”

Throndir looked around the cavern, surprisingly spacious, and thought Ephrim had a point. They wouldn’t be able to grow much—it wasn’t the open space of farmland—but it would be a start, and it was well protected from the elements. The worst of the blizzards had stopped, but the temperature hadn’t shifted yet, still winter cold, and no one really knew what the next season would bring. If they could get a garden going, at least they’d have something if it proved too difficult to work the land around the University.

“It’ll get there,” Throndir said, bumping his shoulder against Ephrim’s. “We’ve got foraging and hunting, and a lot of the refugees brought rations with them. We’ll survive for a while.”

Ephrim took a deep breath and sighed again, long and slow. Then he dropped to sit on the ground, staring at the rippling spring like it might provide answers. After a second, Throndir sat down too, propping his chin on his hands. Kodiak turned around to look at them, then walked over to lay behind them both, his back pressed to theirs. When Ephrim didn’t say anything, Throndir turned his head to look at him, but Ephrim’s expression was complex and indecipherable. The scent of flowers and the sound of water filled the silence, along with Kodiak’s heavy breathing as he fell asleep.

“I want to do more than just survive,” Ephrim finally said, looking away from the spring and over to Throndir. “You know?”

“Of course,” Throndir said. “Like, this all sucks. I’m not saying it doesn’t suck.”

“This really wasn’t how I thought my life was going to go,” Ephrim said with a pained smile. “I used to go to all the fancy parties around Rosemerrow, eating expensive food and talking to politicians. And now Rosemerrow doesn’t even exist, and I’m planning a farm.”

“Things change, huh?” Throndir said, trying to imagine that other version of Ephrim. After six months at the University, Throndir found it surprisingly difficult to picture. “You’re pretty good at this, though.”

“I mean, I’m good at a lot of things,” Ephrim said, and Throndir laughed a little. “You don’t know me _that_ well, Throndir.”

“Okay, not _yet_ ,” Throndir said, grinning. “I’m getting there, though. What else are you good at?”

Ephrim gave him a suspicious look, like he thought Throndir might be teasing him. “I’m an amazing dancer,” he said, dead serious, “and I know a lot of poetry.”

“Fancy,” Throndir said. “There wasn’t a lot of dancing or poetry in Auniq. Mostly just, like, chores, honestly. It was like they were always preparing for another disaster. I mean, I guess another disaster kind of did happen, huh?”

“Kind of,” Ephrim agreed, tilting his head. “What about you? What else are you good at, other than the Ranger stuff?”

“Um, I dunno. That’s kind of my thing.” Throndir laughed again when Ephrim’s face twisted up with annoyance. “I didn’t go to school or have any fancy training, you know? Everything I learned was to help around Auniq.”

Working the sparse fields even in snowstorms; learning to carve wood for function rather than beauty; how to skin a rabbit, and how to make your food last during a lean year; how to keep a fire going through the night. How to find your way through a blizzard, and what to do if you got trapped. Those were the things Throndir had learned as a child, the things he’d been able to teach others when winter had arrived in Velas. He was proud of that, of how his skills had made a difference then, and how they continued to make a difference now. But it did make him wonder about certain things, the same way he’d wondered when he’d first left Auniq.

If he’d been born in another life, would he still have been the Ranger? Or would he have found another calling, never meeting Kodiak, never listening to the animals in the forests, never becoming an adventurer. In that other life, maybe he’d never have died at all.

“I’m pretty good at mending clothes,” is what he finally said, pushing away his thoughts. “And leatherwork.”

Ephrim hummed, expression thoughtful, as if he was filing away the information into a drawer carefully labeled with Throndir’s name. “Pretty useful where you grew up. Do you like it?”

“I guess I don’t mind it,” Throndir said, tugging self-consciously at the coat he wore over his armor. He’d mended it more times than he could count since leaving Auniq. Some of it was done too hastily to look nice, but the stitches had held, and that had been more important than whether or not his hunting leathers were fashionable. “Hey, actually,” he continued, reaching over to tap the back of Ephrim’s hand. “I could make you some new gloves if you want. Sturdier ones, so you don’t mess up your nice pairs when you’re down here. Those look like they’re about to fall apart.”

“Oh,” Ephrim said, looking down. His gloves really were a mess, and Throndir had a feeling Ephrim had done some of the patching himself given how uneven they looked. Throndir doubted Ephrim had learned to mend clothes when he was part of the Creed, and he was still figuring out how to use his left hand more than his right. “Um, I mean, you don’t have to do that. Aren’t you busy? These are fine.”

“I can find time,” Throndir said, shifting so he could lay on his back, head resting against Kodiak, staring up at the grotto ceiling. There was still the hole where Ephrim had first fallen through, and light reflected off the damp stone like a sparkling gem, strange plants growing in crevices along the walls. It was so unlike anything Throndir had ever seen. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll make working on the garden easier.”

“Well,” Ephrim said, a little stiffly, “then, I appreciate it.”

“It’s part of working together here, right?” Throndir said, closing his eyes. The sound of the spring was calming, and his muscles were starting to ache from hauling rubble out of the remains of the storeroom. “It’s really peaceful down here. I get why you like it so much.”

Ephrim hummed again, and his arm bumped against Throndir’s as he mirrored Throndir’s position. “You and Kodiak can come down here whenever. I mean—it’s not like it’s private or anything, and it gets a little cold at night, but if anyone’s used to that…” 

He trailed off, and Throndir huffed out a laugh, because it wasn’t like Ephrim was wrong. “I’m gonna take you up on that,” he said, and Kodiak barked softly in agreement. 

-

_Year 2 —_

Water had soaked through his clothes almost to his skin, Kodiak looked absolutely miserable, and every time Throndir looked back to check on Ephrim, he could see Ephrim shiver despite his attempts to hide it. Between the unrelenting rain and the strong winds, they were both chilled to the bone, and, unlike Throndir, Ephrim wasn’t used to being out in the elements like this. Guilt sat heavy in Throndir’s stomach. Ephrim had been counting on him for help foraging for extra food and medicinal herbs after they’d sent the main hunting party back with some game, and normally going slightly farther afield wouldn’t have been an issue.

Then the rain had started.

Throndir had first seen rain when he’d left the Mark of the Erasure, and he’d stood beneath the clouds as it fell from the sky, unable to hide his wonder. He’d lost that memory briefly to the Word Eater, and he still remembered his relief when it had been returned to him after the Word Eater’s defeat.

This rain was nothing like that gentle shower, though. This was a torrent, like standing beneath a freezing waterfall. It poured down so hard that the droplets stung when they hit his skin. Overhead, a branch snapped from the weight of the water, crashing down to the forest floor somewhere close enough that he felt the ground tremble with its impact. They needed to find shelter, and soon.

He’d barely had that thought when Kodiak barked, jumping over tree roots as he ran ahead. Throndir could just make out his shape, obscured by rain, but he knew that bark meant Kodiak was on a trail.

“Come on!” he shouted to Ephrim over the noise of the storm. “Kodiak’s got something!”

He held out his hand, not wanting them to get separated, and was surprised to feel damp skin meet his own. When he looked down, he saw that Ephrim had taken off both his gloves, which must have grown uncomfortable from water. It had been months since Ephrim hadn’t worn gloves, and Throndir could see dark nothingness had spread up the tips of his fingers on his right hand. Throndir looked away, uneasy at the sight of the strange wound, and tugged Ephrim onward.

They stumbled after Kodiak as fast as they could manage, trying not to slip on wet leaves or trip over obstacles hidden in puddles. Ephrim’s hold was tight, and Throndir squeezed his hand, as close to a promise as he could make.

And then, suddenly, they found themselves in front of a cave. It appeared out of nowhere, perfectly hidden among the foliage and crooked trees. Kodiak stood right at the entrance and shook himself dry, water splattering against the stone wall. Throndir could see evidence of animals once using the cave as their home, but everything was old, long abandoned. It was dry, and big enough to both stand and lay down. Throndir didn’t think they’d find anything better, and tugged Ephrim inside.

He dropped Ephrim’s hand and then his pack, followed by his bow and quiver. Even though he didn’t need to sleep, the emotional exhaustion of navigating through terrible weather had left him drained, and Throndir found himself wanting to rest.

“This is miserable,” Ephrim said, unhooking his cloak. It dropped and hit the ground by the cave mouth with a splat, and Ephrim grimaced as a puddle began to form beneath it. “I almost miss the snow.”

“I definitely miss the snow. Kodiak is gonna smell so bad,” Throndir said, which earned him a displeased bark. “Come on, we need to dry off and start a fire.”

For a moment, Ephrim looked apprehensive, and Throndir thought it was just discomfort at the thought of getting undressed. Then he saw the twitch in Ephrim’s right hand, and he remembered that there had been a time when Ephrim hadn’t needed to worry about starting a fire. Without saying anything else, Throndir bent down to dig the supplies from his bag: flint stones, torch, some coals wrapped in cloth he’d been saving for an emergency. Well, this was certainly an emergency. If they were stuck here for longer than a day, they’d have to try and find some dry wood, if there was any left to be found.

He arranged some loose stones in a circle, then piled the coals in the center, followed by the oil soaked rag from the torch. The flint sparked when he cracked them together, and it only took two attempts for the fire to catch, growing steady under Throndir’s care. Then he stepped away to peel off his outer layers, not wanting to accidentally douse the flames.

Beside him, Ephrim made a frustrated noise. “Throndir,” he said, tone carefully neutral. “Could—I need your assistance.”

Throndir looked over as he tried to squeeze out some of the water from his coat near the cave mouth. Ephrim had managed to get his first layer of armor off, well-practiced at working with one hand by now, but his second layer seemed to be giving him some problems. The water had made his sweater stiff and heavy, and frustration was clear on his face.

“Yeah, of course,” Throndir said, laying out his coat to dry as best he could before moving over to Ephrim. “Just over your head, right?”

“Yeah,” Ephrim said, not making eye contact. “Thanks.”

Throndir grabbed the hem of the sweater with one hand and the left sleeve with his other, pulling it up and over enough for Ephrim to slide his left arm free. He tugged the turtleneck loose as Throndir pulled it the rest of the way over his head. Ephrim took care of the right sleeve, carefully pulling it down, first to his wrist, then away from the hand, as if he was worried what would happen if the fabric came in contact with the darkness. It was easy to tell this was a well-practiced, nightly routine.

“Boots too?” Throndir asked, because it didn’t seem like Ephrim wanted to ask for more, and he crouched down when Ephrim nodded. The buckles were easy, and Ephrim helped before leaning back against the wall. Water had soaked through from the top where his pants were tucked in, making it harder than it should’ve been to tug them off. Ephrim still didn’t make eye contact as Throndir placed the boots to the side, leaning over to pull off his socks.

“Thanks,” Ephrim said again, quiet this time, a little more real. Throndir nodded and gave him a small smile, standing up to get the rest of his own clothes off, too.

He wasn’t actually sure if staying in soaking wet clothes would harm him now that he was a vampire, but it _was_ uncomfortable, and peeling off the rest of his layers was a relief. He rang out the water as best he could and laid them out to dry, then did the same with Ephrim’s clothes, not waiting for Ephrim to ask. Throndir didn’t mind helping, and he could tell it was hard for Ephrim to admit he couldn’t do certain things on his own anymore.

“Did you bring any food?” Throndir asked, dragging both his pack and Ephrim’s over to the fire. Ephrim was already sitting next to it across from Kodiak, arms curled around his bare chest, hunched over as close to the fire as he could get. He’d pulled his hair loose, and the damp strands fell over his shoulder, longer than Throndir had expected. Ephrim usually kept it tied back, ever since it had gotten long enough to do so.

“Not enough for more than today,” Ephrim said. “It’s not like I could have predicted—” He broke off, and gestured vaguely towards where the rain was still pouring.

“That was definitely a surprise.” Throndir passed Ephrim his bag, then opened his own and pulled out some of the rations he always kept on hand. Sometimes they went to Kodiak, if he was being honest, but he’d made the decision to always keep some on him after he hadn’t needed to eat anymore for this very reason. “Here, in case we’re stuck.”

“You think we’ll get stuck?” Ephrim asked, though he sounded like he already knew the answer. He took the food from Throndir but didn’t eat anything.

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Throndir said. “I’ve never seen this sort of rain before. I’ve barely seen _regular_ rain before.”

Ephrim snorted. “It’s usually not this bad, I promise.” He sighed and tucked his hair behind his ear. “God, I hope the hunting party made it back okay.”

“They had enough time to get back before the storm hit,” Throndir said, thinking about when they’d split off from the group. “I’m more worried about leaks. Some of the dormitories are really old.”

For a few seconds they both fell into silence, thinking about who would take charge of repairs and whether or not they had the proper supplies to actually _make_ the repairs. If the damage was extensive, they’d probably have to just put some pots under the leaks and hope for the best.

Throndir jumped at a sudden pressure against his arm, surprised to find that Ephrim had moved closer to lean against him. Ephrim’s skin was warm, the lingering effects of carrying Samothes’s fire for so long, but Throndir felt him shivering, could see his skin pricked with cold. After a second, he lifted his arm to wrap it around Ephrim’s shoulders, tugging him closer.

“Sorry if I’m cold,” Throndir said, as Ephrim relaxed against him. “I think it’s a vampire thing.”

“Everyone’s colder than me, it’s fine,” Ephrim said, careful to not let his right hand make contact with Throndir’s skin. “It’s still helping. I don’t have a blanket.”

Throndir tucked his chin over Ephrim’s head, and leaned back against the cave wall to get more comfortable. Ephrim pushed closer, his chill finally starting to subside, and Throndir squeezed his shoulder.

“You should try to sleep,” he said, as Kodiak’s snores got louder and the fire crackled in front of them. “Maybe the rain will stop by morning.”

“Hope so,” Ephrim grumbled, wrapping his left arm around Throndir, his right hand tucked close to his chest. “Sleeping on the ground sucks.”

“You’re sleeping on _me_ ,” Throndir said, amused, but Ephrim didn’t answer, the stress of the day finally catching up with him. His breathing evened out and the tension seeped out of his limbs as he fell asleep, face tucked against Throndir’s neck.

Outside, the rain kept falling steadily all through the night.

-

_Year 3 —_

“This was your friend?” Mee Kosh asked, leaning heavily on his cane beside Throndir. They stood in the cemetery, the late afternoon sun a warm contrast to the cool breeze.

“Yeah,” Throndir said, looking down at the headstone he’d carved for Fantasmo. Of course, there wasn’t a body buried there. There hadn’t been anything left of that shadow created by Arrell for them to bury. It felt important, though, to make some sort of memorial. Something that proved Fantasmo had been real. “Kind of. It’s complicated.”

Mee Kosh hummed. “Friendship is always complicated. I told you that once, a long time ago.”

Throndir sighed, crouching down to brush away some of the dirt on the headstone and pulling up a weed that had sprouted beside the flowers. “Yeah, you did. But I thought maybe—I wanted it to be better here. I thought things were getting better.”

And things _had_ seemed better that first year, when the residents of Auniq had all arrived at the University, a mixed collection of goblins and snow elves and people like Throndir, who were somewhere in between. Maybe it was that the new threat had pushed them closer together, the shared horror over the Heat and the Dark and the star stuff making it easier to bridge that gap, but for a time it really had seemed like things might work out. Sure, Throndir hadn’t spoken to his father or any of the other members of the old Auniq Council over the past three years, but he’d hoped that was a personal grudge rather than remaining hatred for the goblins.

Clearly he’d been wrong. It sat heavy in the pit of his stomach. If he’d tried harder—or maybe if he’d protected the goblins more—

“This is what happened in winter,” he said, looking up at Mee Kosh from where he was still crouched down by the grave. “What happened in Auniq.”

Mee Kosh was silent for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. “You can put two seeds next to one another in the ground, and they will grow, but they may not grow together,” he said slowly. “Or they may. Sometimes, one plant eats the other. Sometimes one grows too fast, shades the other, and prevents sunlight from feeding it. Sometimes… sometimes they grow together.”

He looked down at Throndir, and when he smiled, it was wrinkled and proud. “You, Gnik, you helped. You helped grow together. But more seeds drop. Grow apart again. Hm?” He gestured at the flowers growing on Fantasmo’s grave, and then at the weed Throndir pulled up, before folding his hands over each other on his cane. “Never one thing. But never many-thing, like you, either. Always a mix.”

They stood together, faces turned towards the setting sun. It hurt, but Throndir understood. There was a reason he’d left, a reason Mitta had a left. It was hard to be a many-thing, sometimes. Hard to find a place where you could safely grow.

“Find me near the woods south, Many-Thing,” Mee Kosh said, placing a hand on Throndir’s shoulder and squeezing tight. Despite his age, there was strength in that touch, and comfort, and a familiarity Throndir hadn’t experienced since he’d been a child, when his father had still acted like a father. “If you ever have questions about where you come from.”

Throndir nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Thanks, Mee Kosh. Be safe, okay?”

Mee Kosh squeezed his shoulder again, and then his hand dropped. Throndir didn’t turn to watch, just listened to the sounds of his footsteps crunching through the grass and remnants of snow. The footsteps paused, and Throndir heard Mee Kosh thank Ephrim for his hospitality before continuing on his way. Throndir rubbed his face, taking a deep shaky breath, and finally pushed himself back to standing. He needed to—he should talk to Corsica, see if they had any refugees they could move into the newly empty dormitories. And he’d need to re-do the hunting party schedules, since he’d relied on the snow elves and goblins probably more than he should have, but they’d had the experience others were lacking. They’d be able to reallocate some of the supplies, too. The brutal reality of rationing meant that it always helped to have less mouths to feed.

“Hey,” Ephrim said softly. He touched Throndir’s elbow, just a light press of fingers, and when Throndir looked over at him, worry was clear on Ephrim’s face. “Are you—” He broke off and sighed. “No, I know you’re not okay. That’s a stupid question.”

“Ha,” Throndir managed, bleakly amused. “Yeah. You heard him, right?”

“Not everything.” Ephrim picked some grass off his sleeves, and Throndir realized he must have been cleaning up the cemetery while he waited. “I was trying to give you space.”

“I just wanted to help, you know?” he finally said, after taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “I tried, when winter first hit. They called me back to Auniq. Can you imagine me doing diplomatic negotiations?”

“Honestly no,” Ephrim said, and Throndir smiled a little. “Flattery gets you everywhere in politics and you’re not exactly good at that.”

“I’m not gonna lie to people if they suck.” That made Ephrim laugh, soft and light, and Throndir smiled a little more. “You’re right, though. I didn’t do a lot of the work. A friend of mine did. I was mostly there to try and prove it was okay to be friends with goblins. That it was okay to _be_ a goblin. It worked, sometimes. It wasn’t all bad. But it’s hard to change minds. The Word Eaters messed a lot up.” He rubbed his face again, inhaling deeply, a little unsteady, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I really just wanted to help.”

Ephrim stared out at the northern woods, tree tops visible from the cemetery hill. Finally he sighed. “Did I ever tell you my full titles?” he asked, a pained slant to his mouth. “Prince Ephrim the Gifted, His Summer Son, Lord of the Coming Spring, Prophet of the Unwavering Flame, Silver Hand of Samothes. Kind of a mouthful.”

“Worse than Hadrian,” Throndir said.

“Because I’m more important,” Ephrim said, teasing. “Lord of the Coming Spring. Prophet of the Unwavering Flame. I was so convinced I was going to be the one to end the winter. To bring back the sun. The hero of Hieron.” He sighed, a long exhale that seemed to make him diminish in size. “I guess I _did_ do that, technically. But it didn’t feel particularly heroic.”

His right hand hovered over the hilt of the sword strapped to his belt, but he didn’t touch it. “You were the one who told me that being the hero sometimes meant making hard decisions. And that’s true, but I don’t think—that’s not the whole thing, you know? Sometimes it’s just trying your best to do what’s right. It’s trying to help. Even when things look bad. Even when it doesn’t work. And maybe we carry some regrets, but it would’ve been worse to _not_ try, right?”

Ephrim’s shoulders straightened, and he looked backwards towards the University. “Besides,” he said, turning to Throndir, smiling again, “you’ve made a difference here. Aren’t you training that little oni kid? That’s you helping.”

“Blue Jay, yeah,” Throndir said, grimacing. “He’s good with stationary targets but not so good with moving ones. It’s a work in progress.”

“I know it’s not the same,” Ephrim said. “Obviously you’re allowed to be upset. Just try and remember all the good you’re doing here, okay? That’s important too.”

It was a hard thing to remember when this loss felt like such a personal failure, but he knew Ephrim was right. They’d managed to keep so many people alive despite their supplies being chronically low, despite the remaining piles of snow and the torrential rain. They’d made the beginnings of a real community here, and hopefully their defenses would hold for as long as possible, long enough for them to find some sort of solution. Or at least long enough to enjoy whatever time they all had left.

Throndir looked at Ephrim, meaning to say something else, but as Ephrim tucked some hair behind his ear, Throndir saw a hint of a rash climbing up his neck, past the collar of his sweater. It was the same rash the Ordennans had first developed last year. At the time, as it hadn’t spread to anyone else, they’d brushed it off as possibly an allergy to something in the environment that didn’t exist in Ordenna. So this—this was new.

“Hey. When did this happen?” Throndir asked, turning fully to face Ephrim, gesturing at the spot on his own neck where the rash was on Ephrim’s skin. “Are you feeling okay?”

Ephrim grimaced, not making eye contact. “It looks worse than it is, honestly,” he said, but tilted his head to the side to give Throndir a better look. After a second, Throndir reached out to pull the turtleneck down. The irritated skin didn’t cover too much space, but if the Ordennans were anything to go by, there were probably other spots hidden underneath Ephrim’s armor. It was obvious Ephrim had scratched at it, too, and Throndir sighed.

“It’s just the rash?” he asked, pulling his hand away. The fabric moved back into place, mostly covering up the evidence, and Ephrim shifted some of his hair to cover it up completely. He’d started wearing it down more recently, and Throndir wondered if this was the reason why. “Did you get any of the salve from Rosana?”

“It’s just the rash,” Ephrim confirmed, rolling his eyes. “I think it would be pretty obvious if there was anything else.”

“I’m just making sure. You didn’t say anything about this, so,” Throndir said. Petulance tinged his voice, but he didn’t like that Ephrim hadn’t told him. If Ephrim was sick, he needed to rest; they both had too many responsibilities, and they’d both seen what happened to people who tried to push through. Besides, if it _did_ get worse—Throndir didn’t think he could take losing another friend.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Ephrim said. He finally looked up at Throndir, expression a little apprehensive. “If it gets worse or something—I’ll tell you, okay? I promise.”

Throndir nodded, then sighed and slumped against Ephrim, who laughed and wrapped his arm around Throndir to support his weight. “This was a really, really bad day.”

“I know,” Ephrim said, patting his back. “Do you need a hug? Do you need Kodiak?”

“He’s chasing after some birds. I don’t want to ruin his day, too.” Throndir let his forehead fall onto Ephrim’s shoulder. “A hug would be nice, though.”

Ephrim laughed again, more air than sound, and moved his left arm up and around Throndir’s shoulders to pull him close. Throndir wrapped his own arms around Ephrim’s waist, face hidden against Ephrim’s clothes, and let some of the regret take over, just for a moment. It was so heavy. He had a feeling it would always be heavy. Some things never got any easier.

Finally he pulled away, the lingering scent of flowers following him as he went, a sure sign Ephrim had been in the garden that morning. Ephrim’s arm fell away, and he adjusted the fall of his cape as he turned back towards the University.

“Come on,” he said, beginning to walk with the expectation that Throndir would follow. Of course, he did.

-

 _Year 4_ —

Leading Fero into the Last University meant seeing it with new eyes. Four years in one place made it easy to forget how much everything had transformed. He’d told Fero that it was hard to feed and shelter a multitude of people, some of whom didn’t get along, and of course that was true. But even though it hadn’t ever been easy, there it all was: Rosana sitting and mending clothes with some of the other Velesians, Corsica barking orders to her remaining Unstill, Jerod overseeing the defectors from Ordenna as they practiced swordplay. The others—mothkin, halflings, orcs—ran between all the buildings, talking, laughing, working. Fero had asked why there were chances here, and this, to Throndir, was the answer: because they could _live_ here, and as long as they were alive, they had the chance to have a community, to have something close to normal.

“What’s this building?” Fero asked as they passed by the First Wing, and Throndir heard the sound of muffled voices from inside. The First Wing had taken the least damage over the years of abandonment, and they’d been able to quickly repurpose it as a classroom. As one of the only spaces the kids of the University used as often as the dormitories, it had also become something of a hangout spot. Even when classes weren’t in session, it wasn’t unusual to find a few kids inside avoiding their chores.

“We’re teaching students in there,” Ephrim said, gesturing for Fero to follow him. He opened the door just wide enough for them to look inside, the muffled voices gaining clarity. It was a few young Velesians, their heads bent close as they played some complex game with cards and whittled pieces of wood. One of them slapped a card down on the table and laughed, sliding the pieces to her side while the other two complained. “It’s a day off, though.”

Fero watched a moment before stepping back, and Ephrim quietly shut the door behind him. “What’re you teaching?”

“Honestly?” Ephrim said, leaning against the wall of the building. “Anything that we can. We have a lot of resources from the University, so. I mean, Benjamin’s been getting pretty good at magic.”

“Who?” Fero asked, expression blank.

Throndir said, “Oh.”

Ephrim said, much more helpfully, “Hadrian’s kid.”

“Oh, him!” Fero snapped his fingers. “He’s still here? He didn’t, like… go with his dad?”

Throndir grimaced. When Sunder and Glasseye had arrived with the broken sword, Ephrim had admitted he’d assumed their friends were dead, lost to the Heat and the Dark, or the star stuff, or maybe even killed in a lower Strata after meeting Samol. Any of those explanations would’ve made sense after three years without word. But Fero had left almost immediately. Why wouldn’t he have assumed they’d return on schedule?

“No, he…” Ephrim trailed off. He looked at Throndir, one shoulder shrugging while he tilted his head to the side. “We should explain that too, probably.”

“Yeah,” Throndir said, sighing.

“They’re in a sword,” Ephrim said, also sighing.

Fero blinked. Throndir nodded understandingly; he’d felt a similar incomprehension when Jerod had first told them, too.

Ephrim gestured vaguely as he continued, “His dad, and Hella, and Lem, and Adaire, and…” 

“Yep,” Throndir said. “Plus other people.”

“We don’t know how many people,” Ephrim added. “We’re trying to get them out.”

“What kind of sword?” Fero asked, but his expression shifted to one of realization even as Throndir said, “Hella’s sword.”

“I figured it out,” Fero said, nodding quickly. “I said it, and then I was like, I know what kind of sword.”

“Yeah,” Ephrim said, resting his head back against the wall.

“I guess there’s probably that star in there?” Throndir said, trying to remember how many people he’d personally seen Hella kill with that sword, let alone all the people he _hadn’t_ seen her kill. It was a lot, honestly.

Ephrim hummed. “I believe they said every person killed with that sword in some way is _in_ the sword, but…”

“That’s messed up,” Fero interjected, and Throndir could see him wondering if Hella was the reason they were trapped. 

“Hadrian, Adaire, Hella, and Lem aren’t dead,” Ephrim continued. “Or at least, we don’t think they are. So we should be able to get them out.” He paused. “In a few years.”

“How?” Fero asked.

In Throndir’s opinion, it was hard to tell whether or not his interest was genuine, but it wasn’t like they had a good answer anyway. “I’m letting Uklan Tel worry about that.”

“Yeah,” Ephrim said. “We’ve got a guy for that.”

For a moment, Throndir thought Fero was going to actually take this seriously, and then he said, “Too bad we don’t have Uklan Show here.”

They both stared at Fero, while Fero grinned with an oversized sense of pride. 

“That was pretty good,” Throndir said, patting Fero’s shoulder.

“And that ends the tour,” Ephrim said, but he laughed as he pushed away from the wall. “I have to go check in with Corsica. Did you want to show him the—?”

“Yeah, sure,” Throndir said. “You’ll like the garden, Fero. It’s underground? And we’ve got it mostly cleaned up now, so you can actually walk through the whole thing, finally.”

Ephrim tousled Fero’s hair as he walked past, heading back towards the direction where they’d seen Corsica. “Good to have you back, Fero.”

A few months back they’d redone the entrance to the garden, shoring up the stairwell down to the cavern and adding a rope hand rail, but Throndir still almost lost his footing when, halfway down, Fero asked, “So, like, what’s up with you and Ephrim?”

It wasn’t the question he’d been expecting, in the middle of his explanation about which plants grew in which parts of the garden, and it caught him so off guard that Throndir had to catch himself on the rope in order not to slip and fall. Kodiak barked in an amused way from the bottom of the stairs where he’d rushed ahead to wait.

“What d’you mean?” he asked, pausing to look back at Fero once he’d regained his balance. “I dunno,” Fero said, scratching at his chin, a comically thoughtful expression on his face. “You guys just seem, like, weird. Super close.”

“I mean,” Throndir said, “it’s been four years, Fero. I’ve spent more time with him than I spent with any of you guys.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Fero hopped down a couple more steps, then kept going past Throndir. “It’s just, you kind of talk like you got married and didn’t invite me to the wedding, that’s all.”

Throndir sighed and looked skyward for patience. “Honestly Fero, I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.”

“I dunno,” Fero said again, then laughed when Kodiak barked. “Yeah, exactly! What Kodiak said.”

They finally reached the bottom of the stairs, and Fero walked to the center of the garden. He looked around, hands on his hips. Fero always looked so much more comfortable surrounded by nature than anywhere else, which was something Throndir could understand. Even four years later, there were days when the mass of people living in the University made Throndir itch beneath his skin. On those days, he’d go out with Blue Jay or the gnolls, tracking animals and leading the hunting party even though he hadn’t shot an arrow in two years. Just running through the trees could settle some of that anxiety.

“This place is great,” Fero said, grinning back at Throndir. “Hey, can I make a den down here?”

“You know what?” Throndir said, because that, at least, was something he could answer. “Go for it. Just be careful, alright? We’ve put in a lot of work down here and Ephrim would probably kill you if you ruined it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Fero’s grin sharpened a little, and Throndir could just see him holding back another joke. “I promise. I’ll be _super_ careful.”

-

_Year 5 —_

The sun was bright, high above them, and the snow had almost entirely melted away by the warmth of spring. Early that morning, Throndir had taken Blue Jay out into the woods to practice tracking animals, and the weather couldn’t be more perfect. Kodiak ambled along, happy to sniff at trees and take it easy. Throndir was enjoying himself too, finding comfort in the stillness of the forest, the sounds of birds and insects, the rustling of leaves in the trees. Although many of the plants were new and strange, everything still felt so _alive_. Sometimes Throndir could feel its heartbeat, even now, three years after hanging up his bow. 

Three years had changed a lot of things about Blue Jay, too. While he hadn’t ever been nervous with the bow, there had been a sense of uncertainty in his decision-making. Sometimes that uncertainty still shone through—he took being the next Ranger very seriously—but in terms of practical skill, Blue Jay was reaching the point where Throndir had nothing else to teach. The rest would come from experience.

“We should head back,” Throndir said, glancing up at the sun. They’d left at dawn, and it would be near lunch by the time they reached the University gates. While a day out in the forest sounded great, there was always work to be done, and Blue Jay had lessons in the afternoon.

“Sure,” Blue Jay said, hopping down from a tree branch. He’d climbed up to peek at a bird’s nest, the eggs inside just beginning to show hairline cracks. Even in the midst of Hieron’s chaos, life continued.

Kodiak led the way back to the University, running ahead and then doubling back to make sure they were still following. Blue Jay was quiet, rather than the usual stream of questions and stories, and at first, Throndir wasn’t sure if he was daydreaming or just distracted. Then Throndir realized he was deep in thought, lost in his own head. When they were almost back to the University, Blue Jay finally broke the silence with a deep, heartfelt sigh.

“Wow,” Throndir said, glancing over and slowing his pace a little. “That sounded heavy. You wanna talk about it?”

“I dunno,” Blue Jay said, his shoulders curving inward. “I just—I guess I’m kind of confused?”

“About what?” Throndir asked, whistling at Kodiak to slow down, too. 

“Um, like, a bunch of things,” Blue Jay said. He scratched at his cheek and didn’t make eye contact. “Like—how do you know if, um, you _like_ -like someone.”

 _Benjamin_ , Throndir thought, smiling. Cute. Extremely obvious, but cute.

“Well, I think there’s lots of ways,” was what he actually said, stretching his arms above his head. “And I think it’s different for everyone. For me, it’s always someone I want to be around all the time, someone I don’t get sick of. I’m used to being on my own, and I like it, so when I find someone I want to be around all the time, it’s different? I _know_ it’s different.” He looked up at the sky, thinking about what it had felt like when he’d been Blue Jay’s age, how overwhelming every single feeling was. “When my day is better just because they’re in it. When I want to hold onto them and not let go.”

Blue Jay made a face, huffing out another sigh. “That’s so—you make it sound so easy!”

Throndir laughed. “I think it gets easier. Sorry if that’s not very helpful.”

“No, I mean, it’s not helpful, but it also is? I’m just so—” He broke off, making a frustrated noise. “Confused! Annoyed! I dunno!” He kicked a rock, sending it flying into the trunk of a nearby tree. Some leaves showered down as a squirrel flung itself to another branch, making angry chattering noises. “Sorry! Sorry!” Blue Jay called to the squirrel, then sighed again. “I just don’t know what to _do_.”

They broke from the treeline, and the stone walls surrounding the University came into view. At the open portcullis, Ephrim was talking to one of the halfling guards on patrol, and when Kodiak barked, he turned to look over at them and wave. Throndir smiled and waved back as Kodiak ran over to go say hi, then stopped walking, putting a hand on Blue Jay’s shoulder to keep him back for a second. He really did look miserable.

“Look,” Throndir said, trying to sound as comforting as possible. “I’m not trying to tell you it’s not hard. It’s always hard? Deciding what to do, what to say, if you should even say _anything_ —it’s always hard. But I think—it’s about deciding if that risk is worth it. It’s like when we decided to come here, five years ago. We didn’t know what the University would be like. We didn’t know if the shield would work. And that was scary. But the risk was worth it, because it gave us a chance to protect all of you.”

Throndir put his arm around Blue Jay’s shoulders, tugging him in for a half-hug. Blue Jay was just about the same height as him now, and wasn’t that strange, too, getting to watch someone grow up, helping them become the best person they could be. “You’ll figure it out. You’ve got plenty of time.”

Blue Jay nodded, his expression clearing a little bit, though he still didn’t look great. “Yeah. Thanks, Throndir. I just—I can’t talk to my dad about this stuff. He doesn’t really—I don’t think he really gets it, you know? He’d probably tell me to just take Benjamin on a dragon hunt—I mean, uh—” Blue Jay’s cheeks darkened to an indigo, and Throndir patted him on the shoulder.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” he said, mostly because he didn’t really need to tell anyone, but Blue Jay didn’t need to know that. “Go grab some lunch and get to class. We can talk more later if you want.”

Before Throndir could react, Blue Jay gave him a quick, tight hug, then ran off towards the gate. Throndir heard him shout, “hi Lord Ephrim!” as he ran past, and Ephrim laughed and waved in response. Throndir followed at a slower pace, waiting for the guard to move on in her patrol route. He shrugged at the curious look Ephrim sent his way as he approached.

“What was that about?” Ephrim asked, left hand on his hip. His right arm, always covered by long sleeves and gloves, was now also hidden beneath a cape draped across his shoulder. Throndir had noticed the change in Ephrim’s wardrobe a few months back, but found himself struggling to ask about it—he knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

“I’m sworn to secrecy,” Throndir said, grinning when Ephrim raised an eyebrow. “But if I say it’s about Benjamin, you can probably guess.”

That made both of Ephrim’s eyebrows shoot up, but he smiled too. “I promise I won’t say a word. I just wanted to tell you what the scouts came back with. Did you have lunch plans?”

“I do now,” Throndir said, following Ephrim in the direction of the kitchens. “Anything good in the report?” 

“You were out there today. You saw what it’s like.” Ephrim shook his head. “Wait until we’re away from everyone,” he added quietly, leaning close before heading into the cafeteria. It was easy enough to pack a basket with some food, dodge the polite small talk of the people on kitchen duty, and make their way down to the gardens.

While technically a public space—and despite the improvements over the years—it was rarely utilized outside of the actual work schedule. At this time of day, a few people were tending to the plants near the storeroom gate, but the area near the spring, where they’d found moments of quiet ever since that first year, was empty. They’d moved some large stones over as rustic seating, and Ephrim perching on one in all his nice clothes was as entertaining as always.

“So, the new plants,” Throndir said, once they had all the food out, including a bone for Kodiak. “They’re changing the landscape.”

“They’re completely different!” Ephrim said, stabbing at the vegetables in his stew with more force than necessary. “And they might be fighting back the Heat and the Dark, but they’re killing everything else to do it. Remember when we got stuck in that storm? When you found all those dead plants?”

“Yeah,” Throndir said as he tore off a piece of bread. “That’s how they’re growing, huh?”

Ephrim nodded and sighed. “Exactly. I think—” A sudden cough broke off his sentence, his body curling inward until it passed. Throndir frowned with growing concern. Much like the Ordennans, Ephrim’s illness had lingered over the years, sometimes receding to nothing but a rash, easily hidden by his clothes. Other times it confined him to his room, his body exhausted from coughing, headaches, and sore joints. It was something he took day by day, and Throndir always worried when it seemed to worsen.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Ephrim said when he turned back, but he didn’t quite make eye contact. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Well, you’re not,” Throndir said, his patience thin. “But it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it. Why’re you hiding your hand more?”

“Subtle,” Ephrim mumbled, resting his chin on his left hand. His right hand was resting on his lap, half-obscured by his cape. “I don’t like the stares. You’d think some of these people had never seen an injury before.”

There was honesty in his expression, a melancholy that Ephrim usually kept hidden, and it made something ache in Throndir’s chest.

“We can talk about something else,” he said quietly, and smiled a bit when Kodiak shifted from where he’d laid down to lean against Ephrim, offering comfort. “You can make fun of me for not making my gun yet if that helps. Victoria was so unimpressed the other day when she stopped by.”

Ephrim smiled, slyness replacing the sadness as he shifted his gaze back to Throndir. “Such a disappointment. Maybe you should stop running around the woods so much, huh?”

“I can’t believe you’re blaming Blue Jay for this!” Throndir said. Ephrim laughed, and the dark mood slipped away. 

They finished the rest of their meal talking about mundane things, trying to stay distracted from the difficulties that plagued the University, but by the time they finished the meal, a pink flush had settled high on Ephrim’s cheeks, a sure sign of fever. Throndir bit back his concern, but he still stuck close to Ephrim as they walked back up the stairs just in case he lost his balance. When they reached the top and Ephrim had to lean against a building to catch his breath, Throndir couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

“You need to go rest,” he said, stepping close to Ephrim so he could keep his voice low and also shield him from sight. “Was it bad this morning?”

Ephrim closed his eyes and sighed. “I spent the first two hours of my day in bed,” he admitted. “I swear, I really was feeling better.”

“Those are the days when you’re not supposed to push it.” Throndir put his hand on Ephrim’s back, and glanced around. Most people in the area seemed distracted by their tasks, and many were still eating lunch; it was as empty as it was going to get. He knew Ephrim didn’t like to show signs of weakness, but Throndir was past the point of caring. Ephrim could barely stand on his own. It seemed absurd to care more about appearances than his safety. “Come on. I’ll help you up to your room.”

Ephrim opened his eyes, and Throndir could see him wanting to refuse. Finally, he pushed away from the wall and let Throndir take some of his weight, careful to keep his right arm tucked close to his body. “I was supposed to meet with Rosana after lunch.”

“I’ll tell her you couldn’t make it,” Throndir said, leaving out the part where he’d see if she could get Ephrim some more medicine, too. “Unless you want to have that meeting in your bedroom.”

“God, no,” Ephrim said, and Throndir huffed out a laugh as they walked slowly towards the tower.

-

_Year 6 —_

Walking up the stairs to Ephrim’s rooms felt more difficult than usual. Maybe it was because he knew the coming conversation wouldn’t be easy. Or maybe it was simply the weight of the past year on his shoulders, and the difficulties of the coming year, too. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand why Fero was so upset. Sometimes, all Throndir wanted to do was flee into the new rainforests with Ephrim and Kodiak, maybe hunt down Arrell in Velas, survive on their own until Hella’s blade was repaired. They’d managed okay in that storm all those years ago, and certainly they could manage now.

He wouldn’t, of course. Unlike Fero, Throndir couldn’t abandon these people. Rosana had been right when she’d told him the refugees needed people to look up to, people to rely on. He and Ephrim had accepted this responsibility six years ago, and they couldn’t abandon it now.

For a moment, Throndir paused on the landing outside Ephrim’s door, letting himself feel that weight and his frustration, before finally knocking, two soft raps. 

“Come in,” Ephrim called, resigned, and he didn’t look surprised when Throndir opened the door, Kodiak squeezing past to say hello. “You took longer than I expected.”

“I tried to get Fero to stay,” Throndir said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “I don’t know why I bothered.”

Ephrim was standing in front of the fireplace, the fire lit and crackling, warming the room to a nearly uncomfortable temperature. His gloves were off, thrown on the armchair, his right hand—his lack of a right hand—on display. There was still the _shape_ of a hand, an impression of one, a hand made up of nothing, and the strangeness of that was more unsettling than Throndir had expected. It had gotten so much worse since that day at the New Archives six years ago. He should’ve paid more attention.

“This is what Fero always does,” Ephrim said, his tone neutral, accepting.

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Throndir countered. Kodiak flopped down on the carpet, stretching out in front of the fire. Ephrim smiled a bit at the dog, and then smiled at Throndir, too, a weary smile that mirrored the weight Throndir had felt outside the door.

“I mean, no, but we should’ve expected it.” Ephrim shrugged. “It’s not that I don’t like Fero, but…”

“He never wants to take responsibility,” Throndir said, his annoyance returning. “He doesn’t see how his actions impact people. I don’t think he _cares_. He needs to learn that sometimes doing the first thing that pops into his head is what makes things worse.”

“And it’s not our job to teach him that,” Ephrim said. “Throndir—”

Before he could say anything else, the coughing started, all too common these days. Ephrim turned away, left arm coming up to cover his mouth, his whole body shaking with it. Kodiak sat up, concerned, and Throndir instinctively moved towards Ephrim, even though there wasn’t anything he could do to help. He let his hands fall back to his sides, fists clenching as he waited for Ephrim to recover. When the coughing finally subsided and Ephrim turned back around, spots of blood dotted the inside of his sleeve.

“Ephrim?” Throndir managed, voice strangled. He couldn’t—it was like his mind didn’t want to connect the blood with Ephrim’s health. The thought that Ephrim had deteriorated so much in such a short amount of time left Throndir so, so cold. 

“Don’t—” Ephrim started, then he grimaced and sighed. “Can you get me some water?”

Throndir nodded, mechanically moving over to the jug sitting by Ephrim’s bed. He poured fresh water into the empty glass, barely aware of what he was doing, and walked it back over.

“When did it get worse?” Throndir asked. “I didn’t push—I know you didn’t want to talk about it—but Ephrim, this is—”

“I’m dying,” Ephrim cut in, taking a sip of the water and grimacing again. Probably at the taste of blood. “I told Fero the truth.”

“I thought you just meant your _hand_ ,” Throndir said, because the hand had always seemed bad enough. Kodiak laid back down, resting his head on his front paws, sadness in his eyes. Throndir could relate. “I thought maybe—if we stopped the Heat and the Dark—”

“Yeah, maybe. If that’s even possible.” Ephrim took another sip of his water, then placed it down on the table beside the armchair, the glass clinking against the wood. “It’s not like the Ordennans. For them, it’s because of the steel. Stop using it, and they can recover. But it’s _inside_ me, Throndir. It’s going to burn me up eventually.”

His words hung in the air between them, a tragic prophecy. The truth of it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“There’s gotta be _something_ we can do,” Throndir said, his voice edging towards desperate. There had to be a way to save him, or at least stop his health from getting any worse. He wondered if he should talk to Victoria about it—Throndir wasn’t sure that making Ephrim a vampire would stop the Heat and the Dark, but it was worth exploring, especially if—when—there weren’t any options left. Victoria would be back soon. She usually circled back every few months, and maybe by then they’d have some ideas that Dr. Lake could help with, too.

He couldn’t lose Ephrim. Not now. After all these years, it was more than just losing another friend, and the thought of that, without even—

Something tightened in Throndir’s chest. He remembered what he’d said to Blue Jay over a year ago, when he’d been so confused and unsure about his feelings for Benjamin. Throndir thought about the time he carved out in his days for Ephrim, how sometimes that was the only way he made it through another week, how being with Ephrim was so comfortable and so easy. He couldn’t put a finger on when, exactly, he’d started loving Ephrim, but the depth of it was like surfacing from a deep lake, as if he’d been holding his breath for years and now, finally, there was fresh air in his lungs.

“It’s okay, Throndir,” Ephrim said, indulgent, his face sad and beautiful. Throndir’s heart didn’t beat anymore, but he still felt frantic, overwhelmed. “The sun’s breath helps with the cough, and I’m already used to not using my hand. I can manage.”

“Okay, yeah, but—” Throndir started, but he didn’t know how to say all the things he wanted to say. He needed more time to think about it. His mind was a chaotic swirl of memories, a cascade of images: every time they’d had a meal in the garden, the way Ephrim looked when he was standing at the war table, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Ephrim’s laugh, increasingly rare over the years, and his smile, the one he saved for when they were alone, the one that had always felt just for him. 

“Throndir,” Ephrim said again, softly, placing his good hand on Throndir’s arm. “I can’t afford to be selfish about this right now.”

All Throndir wanted to do was be selfish. Why shouldn’t they get a chance to be selfish? Six years of dedication to the University, to the people who needed them. When did they get to rest? How many more years would it be before Ephrim could think about himself? Would he even get a chance before the Heat and the Dark consumed him? Just the thought of that was enough to make Throndir sick.

Still, Ephrim wasn’t wrong. There was never enough food, and so many other people were sick, too, and they still needed to gather enough lumber to repair the water damage from the ongoing rains. Fero refused to make any difficult decisions, and there wasn’t anyone else to pick up his slack, so once again it was just the two of them, just Throndir and Ephrim, doing their best to make it through another day. One more day, and then another, until the Blade in the Dark was repaired. 

He wrapped an arm around Ephrim’s shoulders, pulling him close, enjoying the way Ephrim fit against him. He wished they had more time, more privacy, more freedom. He wished they had the luxury of selfishness. 

He really wished he could tell Ephrim how he felt.

“Yeah,” he said, pressing his face against Ephrim’s hair, grown long after six years. He always smelled like the garden these days, fresh and floral and alive, and it was comforting in a way Throndir forced himself not to linger on. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Ephrim said. “Anyway, I’m not going anywhere yet. Stop acting like I’m already dead.”

Throndir huffed out a laugh and let Ephrim go. Kodiak was giving him a look, like he knew exactly what Throndir was thinking, but he turned away when Throndir shot him a glare. He didn’t need to take shit from his dog. That just seemed cruel.

“One more year until the sword’s repaired,” Throndir said, reluctantly pulling his hand away from Ephrim’s shoulder. “We can make it one more year, right?”

He didn’t say that once the sword was fixed they’d have time to focus on finding a way to keep Ephrim alive, but judging by Ephrim’s smile, he’d heard what Throndir meant regardless.

“Obviously,” Ephrim said. He stepped over to the armchair and picked up his gloves, sliding them back on. They were the leather work gloves Throndir had made for him years ago, well-worn and stained from dirt and plants, and warmth bloomed in Throndir’s chest at the sight. “We’ve made it this far. I refuse to fail now.”

“Just tell me what I should do,” Throndir said, eyes tracing the line of Ephrim’s jaw, the sweep of his eyelashes, his thin shoulders. “I’ll follow your lead.”


	2. Chapter 2

Benjamin was dead. He fell to the ground, shot straight through the chest by one of Throndir’s bullets. It seemed so unbelievable that for a moment, Ephrim’s mind couldn't understand it, as if everything was an injury-induced hallucination. But then Hadrian collapsed as well, inexplicably, and Rosana let out an anguished yell, dropping to the ground next to Benjamin’s body, gathering him up in her arms. Fero, still a ram, made a strangled noise of surprise as Throndir climbed through the open window, Kodiak’s barks deep and loud outside. There was a focused intensity to Throndir’s expression as he walked towards Arrell that Ephrim had only seen once before, in the New Archives, when they’d last fought the Wizard.

The temperature plummeted.

Ephrim’s ragged breath fogged out in front of him, and he shivered as the cold seeped through the seams of his clothes. In between blinks, ice seemed to crawl up the bookshelves, spiraling from beneath Throndir’s feet, but when Ephrim blinked again the vision disappeared. The look in Throndir’s eyes changed as he stepped closer to Arrell, shifting to something sharp and feral and frightening, hyper-alive. He held his gun in one hand, but he didn’t raise it. He didn’t need it. Last night, everything had happened too quickly to comprehend. Now, as if time had slowed around them, Ephrim understood exactly what happened to him in that boat out on the Alcyon Sea, and exactly what was happening to Arrell.

Now he understood exactly what made vampires predators and everyone else their prey.

Fero still had Arrell pinned to the ground. Ephrim heard him gasp in pain, but he wasn’t looking in that direction. He was watching Throndir, the way his face seemed to gain more color even as the room felt as cold as any winter day. Ephrim hadn’t known Throndir for very long before he’d died, but he could imagine this was what he’d looked like out in the forests around Auniq, running through the trees on a hunt, tracking his quarry.

Eight years at the University, and Throndir had never once lost control, never fed on anyone, never let them see him like this. Ephrim wondered how hard it had been, to keep this buried. Had Throndir ever regretted it? Would he have preferred to be like Solomon and Lake, roaming all of Hieron and taking justice into their own hands?

Something clanked onto the ground beneath Fero, but Ephrim still didn’t look over, even as the chill faded and the comfortable warmth of Alcyon returned to the room.

“Throndir?” Ephrim croaked out, barely above a whisper. He grasped at the wound in his chest, trying to stop the bleeding, but he was lightheaded, dizzy from more than just the injury.

Throndir blinked twice and turned to look at him. The intensity had faded from his eyes, leaving behind a complex emotion that Ephrim couldn’t name, and a hint of color still in his cheeks. He looked healthier than he had in years, and more heartbroken, too.

“Ephrim,” he said, his expression crumpling. Distantly, Ephrim heard Fero cough and sigh as he shed his ram shape, but sound was starting to fade. Everything was blurring from blood loss, his field of vision starting to narrow. He felt weak, all his muscles giving out, his hands numb.

“You—” Ephrim started to say, but felt himself fainting, his body too exhausted to keep going. He wanted to ask Throndir so many things—wanted to make sure he was okay, ask about Benjamin, about last night, about the past eight years—but his knees crumpled, unable to hold his weight, and his vision went dark as he hit the floor.

-

“—best I can do right now,” Fero was saying as Ephrim slowly clawed his way back to consciousness. He tried to open his eyes but his body wouldn’t listen, still not fully awake. Beneath him was the softness of a mattress rather than stone floor, and he was warm, the sound of ocean waves crashing somewhere outside.

“He needs a new glove,” Throndir said, voice soft.

“There should be one in his pack,” and that was Highwater, followed by the sounds of a bag opening. Ephrim’s right hand twitched in response, and he remembered his glove being consumed by the Heat and the Dark when he’d summoned his sword. 

“Don’t you want to be here when he wakes up?” Fero said, something a little judgmental in his voice.

“Honestly? Not really,” Throndir replied, exhausted. He sounded a little farther away this time, and Ephrim felt sick. “See you in the morning, Fero.”

As his footsteps faded down the hallway, Ephrim finally opened his eyes, groggy but awake. His right hand was throbbing, and he could feel where his brand had seared through his chest at Arrell’s command, but at least he wasn’t dead. Never before had he been so aware of the Heat and the Dark inside of him. Now he could feel it in his lungs every time he took a breath, a strange hollowness, like a piece of him had been carved out with a jagged knife.

“Oh, you’re up,” Fero said. “I wasn’t sure that would be enough healing to get you there.”

“I mean, I still feel awful,” Ephrim said, voice rough, as he pushed himself up onto the pillows. “And my feet are numb.”

Highwater handed him his spare glove, a perfect match to the one he’d lost in the fight, and Ephrim carefully pulled it on. Even after all this time, the sight of his hand made him nauseated. Covering it up was as much for himself as it was for everyone else. He didn’t think he’d ever be used to what it looked like, no matter how much time passed.

They’d moved him to his room downstairs, overlooking the sea, and the salty breeze helped to clear his head. He was still dressed, laying on top of the blankets, staining the bedding with blood. Just another thing he’d messed up on this trip. He was supposed to be better than this at diplomacy.

“What happened after I passed out?” he asked, sitting up a bit more. He winced as he moved, the barely healed wound in his chest stretching awkwardly. Fero’s magic had been enough to keep him alive, but the damage was still raw, and, of course, the cause of the injury made it much worse.

“Throndir ate Arrell, I guess,” Fero said, ticking off everything on his fingers. “Hadrian made a deal with Adelaide to bring Benjamin back, apparently? He said Hella was there, too, and she needs a new body or something. I’m really hazy on the details.”

“Sir Hadrian can explain more,” Highwater said. “Sir Throndir carried you back here. When the Wizard made you—” She broke off, taking a deep, bracing breath, clearly struggling over the memory. “I was really worried, Lord Ephrim. You were hurt so bad.”

“I’ll be okay,” Ephrim said, patting her hand. “It looks worse than it is.” Which wasn’t entirely true, but Ephrim didn’t want to discuss that with anyone yet. His right arm ached in time with his heartbeat. The wound from his sword had left lasting damage, but it was his arm getting worse again that had Ephrim really worried, and that hadn’t happened during the fight with Arrell. “I’ll have to thank Throndir later.”

“He’s being super weird,” Fero said. “I asked if he wanted to stay until you woke up because he seemed really worried, but he just, like… left.”

“It’s fine,” Ephrim said, sighing a little. Even having heard what Throndir said, the confirmation hurt. “I’ll just catch him tomorrow.”

“Sure, man,” Fero said, hopping off the bed. “Hadrian wanted to meet with Tabard in the morning anyway to talk about some stuff once you were feeling better. And then we can leave, I guess. That creepy blood sun is gone now, by the way, so that should be fun when we get home.”

Ephrim grimaced. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Highwater stayed behind as Fero left, that worried look still on her face. When she didn’t say anything, Ephrim cleared his throat and she jumped, expression going sheepish.

“Sorry,” she said, slumping forward. “I’m just glad you’re okay. There wasn’t anything we could do, and I was so—anyway.” She sighed. “Just tell me or Marigold if you need anything, alright?”

What he needed was to talk to Throndir, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t be as easy as it would’ve been before they’d made this trip. He reached out to pat Highwater’s hand again, smiling despite the pain.

“I promise I will,” he said. “And you should get some rest too, okay? I’m just gonna get changed and go to sleep.”

She gave him an appraising look, as if she thought maybe she should stay and help him, but after a moment she nodded and stood up, her tail swaying behind her. “You sleep well, Lord Ephrim.”

“Thank you, Highwater. You too,” he said, beginning the process of standing up to change out of his ruined clothes. It would be a long night.

-

When he woke the next morning, Ephrim felt better emotionally, if not physically. His muscles felt weak, every joint aching like he’d run for an entire day, but sleep had resolved some of his worries. He was more alert, his hands didn’t shake as he dressed, and he had a plan to corner Throndir after breakfast. They needed to talk. Sooner, rather than later.

He looked out the window towards the sea as he fastened on his cape, trying to determine the best course of action. Would it be too awkward to ask Throndir directly about what happened? Should he ask if it was on purpose? And what would he say if it _was_? The idea that Throndir might have done such a thing—but even just contemplating that seemed absurd. Still, Ephrim hesitated to brush the possibility entirely aside. Before Benjamin’s body had dropped to the floor, Ephrim would have said Throndir wasn’t the type of person to hurt a friend on purpose. Now he had concrete evidence that wasn’t true.

In the end, it didn’t matter, because Throndir never showed up for breakfast. Hadrian and Rosana sat on either side of Benjamin, their heads tilted towards him as they spoke quietly, the ghost of grief still on their faces. Fero seemed unconcerned, chatting with Highwater about stopping by the farms again before they left. Throndir’s absence left Ephrim unsteady, though he tried not to take it personally. More likely than not, he was just trying to give Hadrian’s family some space.

When everyone had finished eating, Tabard led them to his office to discuss their next steps, and Throndir finally arrived. He slipped in the room behind them all, seemingly from nowhere, and avoided making eye contact with any of them except Tabard; Kodiak, at least, came over to say hello, nudging at Ephrim’s left hand with his nose before returning to sit at Throndir’s side.

“I don’t want—I know we can’t just take the plates,” Ephrim said, once Hadrian had explained Hella’s situation to Tabard as best he could. Tabard’s expression was thoughtful, concerned, then shifted to relieved at Ephrim’s words. “After everything we put you through here, we couldn’t—I wouldn’t want to ask that of you. Is it possible to make her a body here? Or…”

Tabard sighed, leaning forward on his desk. “I’m happy to give you an unanimated pala-din form. We can craft that, at least, without imbuing it with life. But to put your friend into it, after a lifetime of being human…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “That could break her. If you want to do it right, you have to make her feel human. You have to make her like _me_.”

“Oh,” Hadrian said, surprised. “We can do that?”

“There are ways, and places,” Tabard continued, knocking once on the top of his desk. “Two that I know of. We lack the capability to do it here. You need a divine spark. A different sort of divinity than what Galenica blesses us with.” He looked away from Ephrim to Hadrian, nodding. “You know what I mean. The City of First Light, and the Forge kept there. Samot could do it. But with the Ordennan invasion…” He trailed off again. Everyone understood what he didn’t say. “The other option is Samot’s fallen tower, where we first met. You remember the forge there, Hadrian, Throndir?” He looked between them, and they both nodded. “You could do it there, though based on what you’ve said the rest of Hieron is like, I’m not sure what state it will be in when you arrive.”

“It sounds as good a plan as any,” Ephrim said. “And a better lead than we had before. Thank you, Tabard. Given everything that’s happened, we really appreciate it.”

“You didn’t even destroy the library,” Tabard said, grinning. “It could have been _much_ worse.”

Hadrian laughed, just one sharp, “ha!” with little genuine amusement. Rosana put her hand on his arm, and both Benjamin and Throndir looked slightly ill.

“It almost was,” Ephrim said. He didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened if Benjamin had stayed dead. “If there’s anything we—the University—can do for you in the future, please send word.”

Tabard nodded, and pressed his fist to his chest in salute. “I’ll keep that in mind, Lord Ephrim. Is there anything else you wished to discuss, or would you like to prepare for your journey?”

Ephrim glanced at the rest of the group. Hadrian and Rosana both shook their heads; Throndir continued to avoid eye contact, which hurt. Ephrim looked down at the floor and clenched his fists.

“Is it cool if I go down to the farm again for a bit before we head out?” Fero asked, and Ephrim had never been so thankful for Fero’s inability to read a room. “I wanna take another look. I think I’ve almost got something.”

“Of course,” Tabard said. “Should I send someone to notify Omera and Tanyel for you?”

As Tabard and Fero discussed the procedure for getting Fero over to the vineyards again, Ephrim caught a glimpse of Throndir slipping out of the room from the corner of his eye. He looked to Hadrian, whose mouth twisted in a complicated expression, and then he turned to Tabard to excuse himself. When he finally made it out of the office, Throndir was already at the end of the hall, and Ephrim had to jog to catch up. It hurt—his knees ached, and he felt it in his chest, his lungs—but he couldn’t let Throndir get away without saying anything.

“Throndir, wait—” Ephrim reached out, but he pulled back before his fingers touched Throndir’s arm. “Could we—can we talk?”

Throndir stopped, but he didn’t turn around, not even when Kodiak looked between them with his tail wagging. “About what?” he said, voice low and neutral. “I really need to go pack up before we leave.”

His hand was still raised, and Throndir was within arm’s reach, but Ephrim felt a gulf open between them. His breath caught in his throat, words falling short as he tried to think of what to say to make Throndir turn around, to make Throndir _look_ at him. They’d been through so much together, and he’d hoped they could work through whatever had happened on that boat; it seemed absurd that anything could ruin eight years of friendship without an attempt to talk about it first. But Throndir still wasn’t looking at him, and even Kodiak’s tail had drooped down, his ears flat against his head.

“I thought—” he started, but that wasn’t right, and he swallowed as he pulled his hand back. Maybe Throndir just needed time to work through everything that happened with Benjamin. Maybe things would be different once they were on the road back to the University. “Nevermind. It’s nothing. I’ll see you when it’s time to go.”

Throndir nodded, and walked down the hallway without another word. Kodiak looked back once to Ephrim, sighed a big dog sigh, and followed Throndir out.

Ephrim pinched his nose, then rubbed his forehead as he turned to go back to his room. Most of his things were already packed, and whatever he’d forgotten to pack, Highwater would doubtless attend to. He still decided to wait in his room until it was time to leave. After all, if Throndir didn’t want to talk, there wasn’t anything else for him to do.

-

Barring delays, the trip home would take two weeks. As they left the gates of Alcyon, Ephrim caught himself looking in Throndir’s direction more than once, hoping something had changed in the last few hours. Throndir rode ahead, Kodiak running alongside his horse, giving only short answers and nods whenever anyone asked him a question. It was so unlike him, both the reticence and his unreadable expression, and Ephrim didn’t know what to do with this version of Throndir. He tightened his grip on the reins, frustrated, and once again bit back the things he’d hoped to say.

Alcyon receded into the distance as they left the beaches behind, and Ephrim’s thoughts continued to wander. It was still possible this was entirely related to his guilt over Benjamin. If Throndir felt like he needed to atone for that decision—even if it _had_ been the reason they’d successfully defeated Arrell and protected Alcyon—it would go some way towards explaining it. But he didn’t know why Throndir would act like this with _him_. It wasn’t as though he didn’t understand making difficult, even painful, decisions. It wasn’t as though Ephrim’s hands were particularly clean. He would’ve been happy to listen if Throndir wanted to talk about it, and if Throndir hadn’t wanted to talk, he would’ve tried to be supportive, however he could.

And if it wasn’t about Benjamin—if it _was_ because of what happened on the boat—

Did Throndir think Ephrim didn’t care about him anymore? Did Throndir not care about _Ephrim_?

“Ephrim,” Rosana said. “You look troubled.”

She’d stopped a short ways ahead, and set her horse into motion at pace with Ephrim once he caught up. Hadrian and Benjamin had kept going, following after Throndir, who’d ridden farther on to scout with Kodiak. Highwater and Marigold followed behind, and Fero was nearly impossible to keep track of, shifting between different animal forms to race ahead before circling back to the group.

“I’m frustrated,” Ephrim said. “And confused.”

Rosana smiled, her eyes understanding. “About Throndir?”

While he would’ve liked to deny it, Ephrim was self-aware enough to know he wasn’t being very subtle. “Yeah,” he said, slouching a little in the saddle. “I tried to talk to him after we met with Tabard, but—”

He made a vague, frustrated gesture, and huffed out a short sigh. He didn’t even know where to start. Part of him wanted to tell Rosana—tell anyone—everything that had happened in the hopes it would provide some perspective. He wanted, desperately, to know if he could’ve done something different. But Throndir never discussed with them the realities of his condition if he could help it, and Ephrim didn’t want to upset him even more by telling people too much. 

Rosana hummed, brushing some hair from her face. “He’s struggling with hurting Benjamin, just as we’re struggling to reconcile his decision. There’s no question it was what had to happen to defeat Arrell, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me, when I can still feel my son’s body in my arms.” She looked at the treeline of the forest ahead of them, pain clear on her face. “Give him time. It will take all of us time, I think, to recover from yesterday.”

Ahead of them, Benjamin said something that made Hadrian laugh, the sound catching on the wind. Rosana’s expression softened, and when she turned to Ephrim, her smile was genuine. It was clear that she believed her own words, and Ephrim wished he could believe them, too.

“I hope you’re right,” he said, attempting a smile back. Internally, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Throndir’s avoidance was about more than just Benjamin. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that in this case, at least, it all came back to that night on the boat. “Thank you. You shouldn’t have to comfort me—you’re already going through enough.”

She laughed, and her amusement made Ephrim smile. “Oh, I’m used to it by now,” she said. “Between my flock, and Hadrian, and being a mother… Not that I don’t appreciate the recognition, of course. A thank you goes a long way.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement; Ephrim could see, in that moment, how she must have towed a teenage Hadrian along behind her with only a glance.

“I hope Benjamin isn’t…” He trailed off, unsure how, exactly, to phrase it. “I hope he’s okay.”

“He’s strong,” she said, though her fists clenched around the reins. “You know what he’s been through. He’ll manage. Truthfully, he’s probably managing better than I am. And Hadrian promised—” Some of the strength in her gaze faltered for a moment. “Hadrian promised that there wouldn’t be any side effects from what happened. Now we just need to keep my husband alive, too.” She looked at Ephrim again, and held out her left hand in his direction. “I’m trusting you to do your best to help with that.”

Ephrim laughed softly but shook her hand. “I promise to try, at least. He’s not an easy guy to keep safe.”

“Trust me,” Rosana said, and the wryness in her voice made Ephrim laugh again. “I know that all too well.”

She rode ahead to catch up with her family, and Ephrim took a deep, slow breath, exhaling until he was slumped forward. Then he sat back up, schooling his expression into something he hoped was a little less obvious. He could only hope they didn’t run into any trouble. This trip was already going to feel far too long. 

-

Throndir’s continued avoidance on the road seemed to confirm Ephrim’s theories about his behavior. He stayed at the front of the group, sending Kodiak ahead to scout and sometimes riding out with him, avoiding Ephrim just as much as he was avoiding Hadrian. When Fero scouted instead, he fell back to guard the rear, and in the evenings when they made camp he insisted on keeping watch since he didn’t need to sleep. On the second night, Ephrim quietly opened his tent flap, watching for a moment as Throndir sat and stared into the fire, Kodiak asleep beside him. He wanted to say something, but once again the words wouldn’t come—he still didn’t know what he should say, what would bridge the gap, and he let the tent fall shut instead.

He kept expecting to feel angry about Throndir’s behavior, and certainly there was some amount of frustration, but mostly he just felt hollow. Throndir had been by his side for so long, and he’d always been so easy to talk to. Ephrim had known that things would change once the sword was fixed, but he hadn’t expected anything like this.

Although Throndir didn’t seem to notice Ephrim’s mood, Highwater and Marigold both kept shooting Ephrim worried looks. Neither of them actually broached the subject, but they made sure to ride a little closer to him, and Highwater sat with him while they ate dinner, telling him stories about various things she’d seen happening around the University. It didn’t completely take his mind off of things, but he appreciated the attempt.

On the seventh night, after they’d cleared away dinner and Throndir had slipped away to patrol the area, Benjamin sat beside Ephrim by the fire, the book of fairy tales tucked under an arm.

“I didn’t get to thank you for this,” he said, holding out the book. “I liked them. The stories are different from the ones I grew up with. Not entirely, but a little bit.”

Ephrim took the book back, trying to focus on Benjamin rather than Throndir’s behavior. “It’s pre-Erasure, which is part of it. Out east—it’s different. Sometimes you find whole areas of pre-Erasure artifacts untouched. Other times… Well, you know about the Grand Tour.”

Benjamin poked at the burning logs of the fire with a stick, nodding. “I don’t know _that_ much. Dad never went that far east. I’ve read some of the books at the University, but that’s all.”

Instinctively, Ephrim looked eastward, then up to the night sky, devoid of stars. “It’s falling apart. Since the Grand Tour came west, it’s probably entirely gone now. I’ve never regretted leaving.” He looked down at the book on his lap, then ran his hand across its cover. The well-worn gilt letters were peeling away, gold leaf curling up at the corners. It was strange how comforting it still was after all these years. 

“You don’t really talk about it much,” Benjamin said, then immediately cringed. “Not that I think you have to! Um. Sorry.”

His discomfort and obvious worry about upsetting Ephrim were awkwardly sweet, and Ephrim smiled at him. “I promise I didn’t think you meant that. You’re right though. It’s not something I like to remember. I moved around a lot.” He shrugged. “The Creed was the first time I truly had a home. Now, my home is the University.”

Benjamin didn’t say anything for a moment, but it was a comfortable, thoughtful silence. “I sort of understand,” he finally said, slowly, like he was working through the words as he said them. “I’m never going back to Velas, probably.”

Arrell’s death left a lot of questions regarding the fate of Velas; many of the residents had fled with Rosana, but the upper class had remained, locking themselves in their mansions and catering to Arrell’s paranoia. Without Arrell to maintain the barrier around the city, who knew what would happen to it. There was also the question of all the people Arrell had trapped in his bubble dimensions, but Ephrim lacked the technical knowledge to make any sense of _that_. The possibility that they may have trapped people in them permanently, or even killed them, if Arrell was necessary to maintain the spell… Ephrim sighed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Probably not. I wish I had a better answer for you.”

To his credit, Benjamin just shrugged. “It’s not like I didn’t already know.” He twisted the fabric of his cloak in his hands, a nervous habit. “It sucks, but, you know. I have the University. My parents are still around. I have Blue Jay. And…” He trailed off, forcing himself to let go of the cloak, then smoothed out the fabric. “Throndir said he knew I wouldn’t really die. And I think he was being honest. So I have a new home, and everyone I love, and I don’t have to worry about Arrell using me to hurt anyone. It’s not—I’m not saying everything’s okay, because the world is—it’s obviously bad. But I think it could probably be a lot worse, too.”

Ephrim looked in the direction that Throndir had left the campsite. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re right about Throndir,” he said. “He wouldn’t lie about that. He doesn’t lie ever, really.”

Or, at least, he hadn’t, but even with Throndir’s recent attitude change, Ephrim didn’t think he would lie about something like this. Not to Benjamin. 

“I know,” Benjamin said with a quick, sharp smile. “Blue Jay wouldn’t like him if he did.” He stood up, brushing ash and dirt off his pants. “I’m gonna try and sleep. Thanks, Lord Ephrim. For—well, for the book, but also for the talk. Sleep well.”

“You, too,” Ephrim said, waving a little. Benjamin retreated to the tent he was sharing with his parents, and Ephrim poked at the fire with the stick he’d abandoned. He wished his own problems with Throndir could be solved as easily as a quick talk, but that seemed less likely with every passing day.

-

Finally, thirteen days after leaving Alcyon, they reached the star wall surrounding the Last University. Ephrim was exhausted: his pain had only gotten worse after days of sleeping on the ground, and Throndir was still avoiding him. Things had improved, marginally, over the journey, where _improved_ simply meant Throndir occasionally made eye contact rather than looking past him when they spoke or, even worse, ignoring him entirely. If Ephrim felt less awful, he might have been angrier, but between his injuries, his constant pain, and feeling Throndir’s absence like a missing limb, he didn’t have the energy. 

The changes around the University were a welcome distraction. Despite only being gone for a month, a number of new housing structures had been built outside the main walls. Many families had already moved in, their laundry strung between the buildings, and he managed a tired smile at the sight of children playing tag out in the street. The buildings weren’t perfect, and it still wasn’t enough for their swelling population, but it was a start, and Ephrim was surprised by the wave of gratitude he felt at the sight. 

All the guards posted nearby saluted as they entered the main gate, and some of the Unstill rushed over to take their horses to the stables. Ephrim nodded and thanked them once he’d managed to climb off his mount with as much grace as he was capable of given his pain. He wanted to go to his rooms and soak in hot water, let his joints and muscles find some relief, but he didn’t have the time. The Unstill coming to greet them meant Corsica had stationed them there specifically, and she would want to know everything as soon as possible. 

He turned to tell Highwater and Marigold they were free to take a break just as Throndir disappeared into the guard tower. For a moment, his thoughts completely scattered, and the ache in his chest returned. 

“Lord Ephrim?” Highwater asked, and the care in her tone made him wince. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “You both can rest for a bit. I’ll be in the tower with Corsica.”

They exchanged looks with each other but nodded, bowing a little before heading off in the direction of the dormitories. Ephrim hesitated, watching them go, then turned towards the tower, adjusting the fall of his cape as he went. 

Corsica was waiting when he arrived in the meeting room, her hands clasped behind her back as she stared down at an old map laid out on the table. It was covered in hand drawn marks denoting everything found by the scouts: fissures filled with the Heat and the Dark; strange new towns created by star stuff, empty and lifeless; some of the larger landmarks of the New Spring; and, of course, Lem’s river, coursing down from the mountains all the way to the south. So much had changed in such a short amount of time. Ephrim tried not to think about how much more could still change before everything was through.

“Welcome back,” she said, looking up from the map when he closed the door behind him. “A lot has happened in your absence.”

“I assumed,” Ephrim said, easing himself down into a chair. “What was that other sun?”

Corsica let out a slow sigh. “It’s a long story,” she said, her split lips curling. Slowly, she laid out the events of the past month, beginning with the skeleton corpse of Samol attacking the University. She explained how they followed it back to the Dark Son’s base of operations, and their eventual decision to launch an attack. The dragon’s rebirth and escape. The death of the Solarch.

Ephrim looked away from her, covering his mouth with his left hand. He’d known that eventually they were going to have to deal with the Solarch, but it had been a distant thought, and one he avoided lingering on as much as possible. Even after a decade, his feelings about the Creed were complicated, a mix of betrayal and hatred, gratefulness and love. Knowing what the Solarch was—what his end goals had always been—didn’t help him unravel that knot in the slightest.

“We need to find out where that dragon went,” Ephrim said once Corsica was finished. “If it stays near here, or flies south—”

“I’ve had scouts out for the past two weeks,” Corsica interrupted. “We will find it. Tell me about Alcyon. Were you able to secure a pala-din army?”

Ephrim grimaced, remembering how badly he’d fumbled that first meeting with Tabard. “No, it—unsurprisingly it’s not that easy,” he said, sliding a little further down in his chair. “They’re _people_ , Corsica. An entire city of pala-din people. Some of the Anchor, too. After ten years surrounded by life, they _awaken_ , and I couldn’t—obviously I couldn’t ask them to do that. Any of it.”

Corsica looked past him, her eyebrows lowered, and then she nodded. “Of course not,” she said. “This isn’t the first time someone with good intentions has thought ‘what if I can have an unthinking army?’ But it will be _our_ last time.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Ephrim said, rubbing his forehead, aware that his exhaustion was starting to show through.

“You were at the New Archives. You heard how they catalogued my people within their patterns.” Her voice was low, serious, and clearly disdainful of the Archivists. “I would not do such a thing to others.”

They both sat with that for a moment, and Ephrim wondered what was happening to the rest of the Anchor in Marielda. Clearly they hadn’t all been inside Alcyon, nor were they on the beach waiting to be let into the city. How many more had woken up and found themselves trapped in the Ordennan war machine, seen as tools of destruction rather than as people? It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“Also, we killed Arrell,” Ephrim added, pushing himself back upright in his seat. “He tried to make us give him a pala-din army of his own, and obviously that wasn’t going to happen.”

“Another thing to cross off our list,” Corsica said, a small, satisfied smile growing on her face. “I’d say the trip was a success, then.”

“We have to take victories where we can, I guess.” He stood up, holding back a wince as his joints creaked with the movement. “We should call a meeting. Let me write some notes.”

“I will be here,” Corsica said, returning to the map, tracing routes with her gaze.

It took half an hour to summon everyone necessary to the war table: Hadrian and Rosana, Hella and Adaire, Lem and Fero, Throndir and Kodiak, along with Sunder, Solomon and Lake, Red Jack, and Chatterchin. Ephrim stood beside Corsica, pushing the pain in his body aside as they began to discuss their options.

“Adelaide said that I either need someone to sacrifice themself in my place,” Hella said, as the conversation shifted from recent events to her oncoming death. “Or I need a new body. And a pala-din body seems like a good one.”

Adaire frowned, glancing at Hella. “But we do have a second option.”

No one immediately spoke, and Hella had the grace to look guilty as she avoided Adaire’s eyes.

“What’s the second option?” Fero finally asked. “Sorry, what’s the second option?”

“Convince someone to die for Hella,” Adaire said without hesitation, her arms crossed, expression stoic.

Red Jack snorted, and crossed his arms as well. “Oh, is that all?”

“I didn’t say it was a _good_ plan,” Adaire snapped, her fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeves. “But it’s an _option_. I’m not going to ignore it just because it’s—”

“Of course,” Red Jack said, unimpressed. Adaire’s lips pressed together and she frowned more.

“Very hard,” she finished blandly.

“I guess, in a way,” Hadrian said, and when Ephrim looked over, he saw Rosana’s fists clench, “the other option is me. I already told Adelaide that if no other solutions presented themselves, I would do it.”

Hella leaned forward on the war table, shaking her head. “No. That’s not an option.”

“Yeah,” Throndir said, just loud enough to cut in over Hadrian’s reply. “You have Rosana and Benjamin to worry about. I’ll be the back-up plan.”

Ephrim put his fingertips on the table, trying to anchor himself, to keep his knees from collapsing beneath his weight. It felt as though the ground had dropped out beneath him. He barely heard other people raise their objections, barely processed Solomon’s eyes narrowing and Dr. Lake shaking her head. He stared at Throndir, struggling to breathe, and suddenly understood why Adaire was so desperate to save Hella.

“Do we not have any way to cure the Heat and the Dark?” Chatterchin asked, cutting into Ephrim’s thoughts. “How—It’s been with us a long time. Nothing?”

Ephrim shook his head, as much in answer to the question as to try and refocus. “I thought Uklan was getting close with something, but clearly…” He trailed off, and Lem made a noise of derision.

“Uklan was getting close with the _cult_ ,” he said. “Any time when he could have been working on _this_ he was—he was working on that _dragon_.”

He needed to pay attention, needed to focus on the fact that they’d been betrayed, but Ephrim kept looking over at Throndir, while Throndir continued frowning down at the map. No wonder he’d been so hurt by Throndir’s avoidance. No wonder he’d felt like his heart had been breaking. How stupid was he, not to notice his own feelings? How stupid was he, that it had taken him eight years to understand?

“Speaking of that, actually. Ephrim,” Sunder said, and he twitched, looking quickly away from Throndir’s face. “Has the gel been holding up for you?”

“Uh.” He hesitated, then sighed. “It was, for some time.”

Sunder frowned with concern. “The efficacy can’t be counted on?”

Ephrim closed his right hand into a loose fist and lifted up his arm. “It’s… I had to…”

What was he supposed to say? That Throndir fed on him and reopened the wound? Even just thinking about telling the truth made him sick. What would they do if he told them? What would _Throndir_ do? He was carrying enough guilt about Benjamin as it was, and certainly it seemed as if Throndir was trying to avoid talking with Ephrim for as long as possible. If Ephrim told the truth about this, would Throndir leave? Would they _make_ him leave? Either option made Ephrim’s heart race, his breath catch in his lungs. What if they did something even worse than simply kicking him out?

Despite everything that happened in Alcyon, despite weeks of Throndir ignoring him, Ephrim loved him. Even if Throndir never spoke to him again, even if he eventually left to join the Golden Lance, even if he never loved Ephrim back, Ephrim knew he would _always_ love him. He knew he couldn’t put Throndir at risk.

“I had to use the Heat and the Dark when we fought with Arrell,” he said, forcing his voice steady. “It undid a lot of the good. But I don’t—we can try with Hella and see if it helps her. It might not have—I don’t think she’ll have the same issue.”

“Her wounds aren’t physical,” Solomon said, and when Ephrim looked in her direction, her eyes were calculating. “I doubt it would have the same effect, let alone the same problems.”

Ephrim swallowed heavily and nodded, and Corsica sighed.

“So. Dragon, Ordenna, Hella’s body,” she said, looking between everyone. “Is there anything else?”

“I would love to know what’s going on in the star’s citadel to the east, in the Shredded Steppe,” Dr. Lake said, her finger tapping on her arm. “But there’s so much else to do. Samot and Severea, too, whatever they’re doing. From what I hear, Galenica’s around as well. So—”

“There’s just so much other stuff,” Fero said, and he sighed, short with frustration. “There’s just so _much_.”

“I know,” Dr. Lake said. “But it’s important to put everything on the table.”

“Alright,” Corsica said. “I need to know what everyone’s doing. Do I need to raise an army? Are we going to the City of First Light to fight Ordenna? Are we hunting down this dragon?”

Fero pointed at her and clicked his tongue. “Dragon! The dragon thing, right?”

Corsica inclined her head. “It does seem important. My scouts should return with information on its whereabouts soon. If we wish to find it, I suggest we leave as soon as possible. I doubt it will stay in one place for very long.”

“We need to—we need to make a decision here,” Ephrim said, trying not to look at Throndir, trying to sound confident, like the leader he was supposed to be. He couldn’t think about his feelings, not now, not when they had so much left to do. “If the majority of us don’t want to do this now, we won’t. But if we have a chance, we should take it.”

He took a deep breath, looking at everyone standing around the table. Finally, he looked at Throndir, bracing himself for the worst, but this time Throndir was looking back. For a moment, everything felt normal, the way it had been for the past eight years, and Throndir nodded, just a little bit. Ephrim’s heart beat heavy in his chest.

“An opportunity like this isn’t going to stay,” he said. “I think we need to move now. So if you’re all in agreement with that…” He trailed off, looking to Corsica, who braced her hands on the table.

“Everyone who agrees we must hunt this dragon now,” she said, her voice like ice, “say aye.”

-

Corsica’s scouts returned within an hour of the meeting’s end. That evening, they began their journey into the Mark of the Erasure.

Ephrim was certain they made quite a sight as they rode out after Red Jack, his armor glinting in the moonlight. He spurred his horse onward and grit his teeth, trying not to focus on the way his right arm was throbbing with sharp pain. He was also trying not to think about Throndir and the complicated tangle of feelings in his chest, but he wasn’t hiding it well; Highwater had noticed his strange mood when she’d helped him repack. He hoped the journey would be difficult enough to keep him distracted. The idea of being alone with his thoughts any longer sounded miserable.

He stayed near the front, his retainers flanking him on either side. The plan was to make it to a defensible campsite before the sun set. Given the news about Velas being destroyed by the Advocate, none of them found the thought of camping out in the open reassuring. Unfortunately, there wasn’t another option, and by the time they arrived at the location, none of them were in any mood to complain about it. Even Throndir looked worn out, the strain of all their travel visible on his face. Ephrim forced himself to ignore it as he waited for Marigold and Summit to finish setting up his tent. Throndir’s health wasn’t any of his concern.

On the third day of the journey, they passed through Baron’s Gate, a shell of what it had once been. Ephrim looked up at its tower, the top floor crumbling, a victim of the Advocate’s trail of destruction. Though enough people remained for them to stock up on supplies, most had fled, overwhelmed by yet another danger they had no hope of overcoming. He remembered what it was like when he’d stopped in Baron’s Gate as a child, those brief moments of calm amidst the chaos of life in the east, and he sighed. These people deserved a better fate than this.

They left the town in the afternoon, heading further northeast. Patches of snow lined the sides of the imperial road, and the temperature slowly began to drop. Ephrim felt it in the bones of his hands, in his right shoulder, in his lungs. He coughed once and cleared his throat, avoiding the worried look Highwater shot in his direction. The cold made him feel worse, but there wasn’t anything to be done. He’d survive, as he always did.

Soon, though, the snow started giving way to the plants of Spring, and Ephrim rode to the front, pulling Alyosha’s daisy from the interior pocket of his coat.

“Let me lead,” Ephrim said as the daisy floated above his hand. He tried not to notice the feeling of Throndir looking at him, how different it felt compared to everyone else. “The Spring is here. Some of the plants will be dangerous.”

“I can help,” Adaire said, riding up beside him. “I didn’t go too much further this direction when I made my maps, but I know how to spot bad footing.”

Growth here was sporadic, and the daisy twisted and turned as the road vanished and they were forced to venture deeper into the lands surrounding the Mark of the Erasure. The occasional patch of snow remained among the new plants, but the farther northeast the went, the more it melted away. The temperature shifted again, back to the warmth of Spring, and Ephrim flexed his left hand as feeling returned.

It was night when they saw the first fissure, the ground broken apart to reveal a great gash of the Heat and the Dark, clawing its way up from beneath Hieron. Large swathes of black scarred the landscape, victim of the Advocate’s fire, melting snow and burning away plantlife.

They found a spot to camp at the base of a foothill, where the fissures of the Heat and the Dark were far enough away to give them some semblance of safety. For miles in every direction, the land was a lifeless expanse of grey-brown dirt, dotted with toppled stones and boulders and the occasional burnt husk of a tree. Even after experiencing an actual winter, Ephrim couldn’t imagine everything around them covered in a thick layer of snow with a blizzard raging overhead. He’d heard stories of the Mark of the Erasure, first from people in the church and then from Throndir himself, but even knowing those stories, the dissonance was difficult to reconcile. 

He chanced a look in Throndir’s direction. The pain on his face was obvious. Nothing would make this any easier. Ephrim wondered if anything remained of Auniq at all.

While his retainers began setting up camp, Ephrim led his horse off to the side to give her some water and make sure she’d be comfortable for the night. Slowly, wincing as his knees popped, he crouched down to check her feet and clean out the accumulated dirt and grime of the day’s journey. She grazed a bit as he did it, searching out the tiny bits of grass that survived the Advocate’s fire, and his mind emptied of all thoughts about the Advocate, and Throndir, and the Spring, as he followed the routine he’d known since he was old enough to walk.

Finally he stood back up, brushing the dirt on his left hand off on his pants. He should probably ask one of his retainers for help with the saddle, as he’d done the past couple of nights, and he sighed as he turned around.

“Oh,” he said, stopping short as Throndir also stopped walking, now only a few feet away. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Throndir said, voice quiet. “Food’s almost ready. Uh, Fero decided to cook though, so no promises on quality.” He paused, glancing over to Ephrim’s horse. “Did you—can I help?”

Ephrim frowned a little and narrowed his eyes, but when Throndir didn’t say anything else, he nodded. He _did_ need the help, and Throndir was offering. There wasn’t a good reason to say no without saying things he’d rather not.

Kodiak sniffed at the horse as Throndir stepped forward to undo the straps of the saddle, then carefully slid it off. The horse seemed unbothered by either of them, and Kodiak shifted his attention to Ephrim, sniffing at his pants and hands before leaning against his legs. Ephrim smiled a little, scratching his back, pointedly not watching as Throndir put the saddle on the ground before sliding off the horse’s blanket and laying it on a nearby boulder to dry out.

“Thanks,” Ephrim said when he finished, nudging Kodiak away so he could give his horse a quick brush. “I’ll be over to eat in a minute. I just want to finish up.”

Throndir stepped to the side but didn’t walk away, and after a second, he said, “I didn’t realize you were this good with horses.” He reached up to put a hand on the horse’s neck, looking sideways at Ephrim, like he didn’t want to make direct eye contact.

Ephrim hummed. “I basically grew up on horseback.” When he closed his eyes, he could still hear the thousand, thousand hoof beats of the Grand Tour. “And when I came west, with the Creed, I still rode horses between towns. It’s been a while, but it stays with you.”

“Even with all of this,” Throndir said, gesturing at the landscape surrounding them, “I can still see the snow. I know where it should be. That kind of stuff from childhood—it doesn’t ever really go away.”

He was looking in a specific direction, pain on his face, and Ephrim knew he was looking towards where Auniq used to be. Ephrim had assumed for years that the town was abandoned, but this level of destruction was beyond simple abandonment. Ephrim wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what this conversation meant. He didn’t know why Throndir was doing any of this. Even though part of Ephrim wanted Throndir’s company, desperately, another part of him was suddenly furious. Two weeks of nothing, and _now_ Throndir wanted to act like everything was normal? 

“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” Ephrim said, turning back to his horse, doing his best to keep his tone neutral. “Did something change?”

“I—” Throndir started, then sighed. “That’s fair.”

Ephrim didn’t say anything, waiting, needing to know if Throndir was going to explain _any_ of his behavior, but the silence stretched, and then he heard Throndir turn away, footsteps crunching through the dirt. Kodiak bumped his head against Ephrim’s knee like an apology before following after him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ephrim whispered as Throndir’s footsteps moved farther away, towards the sounds of the camp.

-

For the rest of the journey, Ephrim made sure to keep his distance from Throndir. It wasn’t what he wanted, but _none_ of this was what he wanted. He hoped—desperately, as his stomach twisted into knots—that they could kill this dragon, that Samot’s tower was still intact, that they could get Hella her new body. As much as his anger with Throndir continued to grow, the creeping dread that he might sacrifice himself, that he might _die_ , was somehow worse. By this point, Highwater had no doubts that something was very wrong, and although she never asked for specifics, she helped him with his horse in the mornings and evenings, and offered to bring him dinner in his tent so he could be alone and rest.

It was almost a relief to suddenly see Samot’s tower and the Advocate perched upon it. They all inhaled at the sight of it, holding their breath, pausing for a moment at the edge of the desolate wasteland that surrounded the fallen tower. Ephrim had heard the stories, from Throndir and Uklan Tel and Sunder, how, a decade ago, they’d left the snowy treeline and stepped into a beautiful spring day. How fields of flowers sprouted around the ruins, birds singing, bees buzzing. Now it was a nightmare, somehow worse than everything else they’d seen: brown and yellow and sickly, what remained of the plants burned or withered away to nothing, the raw rupture of magic below the tower flickering with the black and purple of the Heat and the Dark. Nothing lived here anymore; nothing, not even the Spring, could grow amongst this destruction.

“I hate this,” Fero said after he shifted back to halfling form. “This isn’t how—it’s not supposed to be like this. There’s no _life_.”

“Pay attention to where you’re walking,” Throndir said, eyes narrowed as he looked around the desolate field. “Some of the gaps are hidden. See? Over there. I don’t know if you’d fall into the Heat and the Dark, or a lower lamina, or…” He trailed off, like there might be something even worse.

“I think we should leave the horses back here,” Hadrian said, before turning to Ephrim. “Can your retainers watch them? Sorry, I shouldn’t—” He turned to Highwater, and then looked at the other three, too. “Would you mind?”

Ephrim looked over and Highwater nodded. “We’ll keep an eye on them and Tel, make sure they don’t run off. Come back with everyone alive, okay?”

“Of course,” Ephrim said with a half-smile and more confidence than he actually felt.

The previous night, they’d sat around the fire and planned their attack as best they could, given they weren’t sure what they’d find. Ephrim hadn’t contributed much. There was a time when he would’ve wanted to be up close, in the middle of the fray, but he knew that wasn’t an option anymore. His body was too fragile, too weak. He flexed his right hand, and hoped it wouldn’t give out on him, or get significantly worse.

Fero began to shift into his strange serpent chimera, and Ephrim and Lem took up their distance position. Throndir and Kodiak stepped forward to Lem’s other side, and Kodiak stared up at the dragon on the tower, letting out a low growl. The rest of the group clambered onto Fero’s back, Red Jack with his sword already drawn, and then they were aloft, flying high above the tower, the sinuous shape of Fero sliding through the air like water.

Ephrim glanced over to Throndir, and Throndir looked back; for a moment, Ephrim thought he was going to say something, despite Kodiak still growling, despite Lem mumbling about proper trajectories—and then the serpent dropped, hitting the Advocate hard enough for them all to hear the impact, the rest of their party throwing themselves onto the crumbling stone of the tower as Fero twisted around the dragon’s body.

“Oh god,” Lem whispered, wincing. It was hard to get a clear view of their friends from this distance, but it was easy to see the Advocate thrashing in Fero’s grip. In the second that Fero managed to pin it to the ground, they could suddenly see Red Jack, too, swinging his sword at the dragon’s face. The giant blade cracked on its scale hide, and Throndir cursed as Red Jack threw the hilt away and grabbed the dragon’s jaws, attempting to help Fero hold it in place long enough for someone else to get in a hit.

“If I have to tell Blue Jay—” Throndir muttered, cracking open his gun and loading a bullet. “I swear—” 

Kodiak barked a warning, sharp and loud; the Advocate had managed to spread its wings as it tried to throw Fero off. Ephrim completely lost sight of the others for a moment, and then, there: Hella’s sword caught the light for an instant before shadows began pooling around it, and Hadrian’s sword glowed through the membrane of the dragon’s wing. They attacked simultaneously, one sword of darkness, the other a gleaming gold, and Ephrim heard the horrible, painful sound of a wing being snapped and dislocated.

Claws slammed into stone as the wing fell at an awkward angle, both Hella and Hadrian quickly moving out of the way. The Advocate pushed upwards and threw its head to the side. Ephrim let out a strangled yell as he watched Red Jack fly over the edge of the tower. He heard the sound of Throndir’s gun snap back together right as Throndir began sprinting with supernatural speed in that direction, Kodiak keeping pace beside him. Ephrim’s heart pounded in his chest, fear climbing up his throat. Red Jack crashed into the side of the tower, slid a few feet, then stopped, just managing to grab onto an outthrust stone with a single giant hand.

“Ace!” Red Jack shouted, his booming voice echoing across the empty field. From behind him, Ephrim heard the sound of Ace’s hoofbeats, thundering against the dirt, and then Ace was there, charging past them, past Throndir, right in the direction of Red Jack.

The Advocate roared. Sound vanished. Even as Ace kept running, as Kodiak kept barking, everything fell horribly, terrifyingly silent.

Pain shot up Ephrim’s right arm, beginning in the center of his palm where his wound had first began, ricocheting up to his shoulder as if in answer to the Advocate’s call. He grabbed his shoulder, curling forward, but thankfully the wound didn’t seem to get any worse. Not yet, at least.

Sound returned, and Ephrim finally looked back up as the pain faded to the usual ache. Red Jack had dropped from the tower to land on Ace, and they began to gallop around to the back of the structure in hopes of finding another way back up. Throndir had finally reached the tower, too, and Ephrim watched he climbed up the side, jumping from handhold to foothold as Kodiak barked from the ground below.

All the air seemed to leave Ephrim’s lungs. Without a second thought, he reached for the Heat and the Dark, raising up his arms as if holding a bow, his right glove slowly beginning to burn away like parchment thrown into a fire. Throndir reached the top, and his gun fired, but Ephrim couldn’t see him anymore, lost in the chaos of the fight, lost as Ephrim focused on his shot, on forming the arrow, flickering with familiar black and purple flames.

Crackling red lightning exploded from the Advocate’s mouth towards everyone on the tower, and pain exploded in Ephrim’s arm as sound vanished for a second time. He flinched, a reflexive, full-body motion as the pain seared up from his hand, and he loosed the arrow too soon. It fizzled to nothing before it could reach the dragon, but Ephrim barely noticed as he doubled over from the pain. He dug the fingers of his left hand into his shoulder, and he wanted to scream with frustration as his vision blurred. In his right hand, he could still feel the Heat and the Dark, ready to attack again at his command, but he couldn’t work up the strength to stand and fire.

“ _Shit_ —Ephrim?” Lem yelled as sound returned. Ephrim felt Lem put on a hand on his back, but he couldn’t make his voice work as he tried to will the pain away. “Are you—oh my _god_.” 

Red lightning exploded on top of the tower again, but this time it was easy to see the spray of blood that spewed from the back of the Advocate’s neck. The lightning sparked once more and then dissipated as blood dripped down the side of the tower, and the Advocate’s body collapsed against stone with a terrible _crack_. From this distance, all they could see was the glowing sword, forged by Samothes, as Hadrian slowly stood up, silhouetted against the sky.

“Oh my god,” Lem repeated weakly. “Hadrian actually killed it.”

Ephrim managed to nod and take a deep, shaky breath. Then he collapsed sideways onto the ground in a dead faint, his left hand still clinging to his shoulder.

-

Ephrim could hear the sounds of talking and cooking beyond the fabric walls of his tent. He woke slowly, the same way he had in Alcyon, but this time he was alone, laying on his bedroll, his top layer of armor removed. It was on the ground beside him alongside a replacement glove. Everything hurt, and moving seemed like a chore, but at least he hadn’t been stabbed. He would take the small victories where he could.

It took a few minutes before he could bring himself to sit up, wincing as he felt the pain all the way to his bones. He couldn’t have predicted the Heat and the Dark within him would react that way to the Advocate—there was no way to have known—but he felt deep disappointment all the same. It wasn’t supposed to go like that. At the very least, he would’ve liked to have gotten off a single shot.

He slumped forward as he pulled on the new glove, and took a few slow, steadying breaths. At least he was alive; at least they were all alive; at least Throndir was alive. If anything had happened to Throndir while Ephrim was so _useless_ —

“Stop it,” he mumbled to himself, rolling out his shoulders. He should be happier that they killed the dragon. He should be happier they bought Hieron a little more time. But ever since his arm began to get worse… Over the past decade, he’d been forced to be so careful. Sometimes he’d been stuck in bed, body wracked by coughs and fever. Even now, though the worst of his symptoms seemed to have receded, he knew he’d need time if he hoped to recover any of his meager strength.

Ephrim looked down at his hands, palms up, fingers curled inwards. They shook slightly, and he clenched his fists, trying to make it stop.

He just felt so useless.

Slowly, stiff from the pain, Ephrim wrapped his cloak around his shoulders and pushed open the flap of the tent. Highwater sat outside, and she looked over with a wobbly smile when she saw him.

“You’re awake,” she said, sighing with relief. “Fero said you didn’t have any actual injuries, and the fever didn’t go away when he tried to heal you, so I wasn’t sure—” She broke off, watching him carefully as he stepped out of the tent and stood up. Moving hurt, and he grimaced as he straightened his back.

“The fever’s definitely gone,” he said. “I just—I don’t want to just lay around. I’m sure there’s stuff to do.”

Highwater sighed, but nodded in understanding. “They want to bury some of the bones here. We need to bring _something_ back, though. As proof.”

“I’ll go talk to them,” Ephrim said. He put his hand on Highwater’s shoulder and began to walk towards where Fero and Throndir were standing, deep in discussion. Ephrim wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but it was long enough that the sun had set, and they’d somehow dragged the Advocate’s corpse down from the tower. It lay between two rifts in the ground, wings and legs bent in unnatural positions, blood still dripping from its wounds. Ephrim pinched his face at the sight, as well as the scent. He hoped they wouldn’t have to bring _too_ much of it back with them as a trophy. The thought of dragging a decaying dragon corpse for a week wasn’t particularly enticing.

He was still too far to hear their conversation when Throndir stopped mid-sentence and looked over, as if he’d heard Ephrim’s approach even from this distance. His looked surprised, then determined, and then he turned completely away from Fero to walk directly in Ephrim’s direction. When he was close enough, he put his hand on Ephrim’s elbow without a word, and walked them both away from Fero and the campsite. Ephrim blinked a few times, too confused by Throndir’s actions as well as the stormy expression that had settled on his face to object.

“Ephrim,” Throndir said when they were far enough away that no one would overhear. “What did you do? I didn’t see—when we got down you were passed out, and your arm—”

“What did I _do_?” Ephrim asked in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”

“Listen, I know you’re still mad at me,” Throndir said, still speaking quietly. “I get it. But you can’t just—”

“No, okay, _no_.” Ephrim cut him off. He pulled his arm from Throndir’s grasp and stumbled a couple of steps away. “You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do. You just don’t.”

Throndir huffed out a sigh and rubbed his forehead. “Ephrim, you’re too—you’re in charge of the entire University. If you died—”

“ _Since when do you care_?” Ephrim hissed, forcing himself not to shout. He _wanted_ to shout. He wanted to _scream_ , and possibly punch Throndir in the face. After everything—after ignoring Ephrim for weeks, after walking away the other night, after not even saying anything before a fight where they could’ve all _died_ —

“Of _course_ I—” Throndir started, looking up at the starless sky. “Ephrim. It’s obvious you’re in pain. If your arm is getting worse again—”

“Yeah, no thanks to _you_.” The words came out before Ephrim could stop himself, and even as a part of him wished he could take it back, another part thrilled when Throndir looked down at him, shock clear on his face.

“Did you really think it got worse simply because of the fight with Arrell? Honestly, Throndir,” he continued, picking up speed, knowing he was being harsh but unwilling and unable to stop. “I figured it out. Of _course_ I figured it out. I may have been bleeding to death, but I’m not stupid. I felt the wound reopen that night on the boat, and then you killed Arrell exactly the same way. I’m _not stupid_.”

Throndir flinched back like Ephrim had actually hit him. His shock melted into a combination of horror and guilt, and Ephrim felt a sick sense of satisfaction. Good. If Ephrim was going to be heartbroken while the Heat and the Dark slowly consumed him, Throndir might as well suffer, too.

“So, yes. It did get worse,” Ephrim finished as some of his anger began to fade, replaced by exhaustion. “It will continue to get worse. Was there anything else you felt the need to tell me, or was this lecture the only thing?”

It seemed, for a moment, like Throndir might actually say something, a complicated expression on his face as he stared at Ephrim. Then he shook his head, half-turning away to look back in the direction of the tower.

Ephrim hadn’t thought he could hurt more; he’d been wrong.

“Fine,” he said, and now exhaustion was clear in his voice. He turned towards the direction of his tent, suddenly uninterested in anything other than sleep. Clearly his help wasn’t needed. “Goodnight, Throndir.”

“Sleep well,” Throndir said, making no move to stop him as Ephrim walked away.

-

It didn’t seem like it should be possible, but the journey back to the University was the worst yet. Nearly three weeks straight of solid travel, combined with his injury in Alcyon and his arm’s reaction to the Advocate, meant he was in near constant pain, worn ragged from trying to remain upright on his horse. The trip took longer, too, since they were towing a wagon laden with some of the dragon’s remains, and every morning when he awoke, it took Ephrim longer and longer to make himself stand. 

Perhaps the worst part of it was that he knew, even once they reached home, he’d have little chance to rest. They had to make plans to travel to Marielda, he had to deal with the increasingly large tree growing out on the farm, and, of course, he felt like his ribs were cracking open every time he caught even a glimpse of Throndir. Recovery, at this point, seemed like a fool’s errand.

As the days passed, though, Ephrim felt the remnants his anger pass as well. It wasn’t that he’d forgiven Throndir, but what he’d said—the way he’d said it—was cruel, especially given the fact that Throndir’s worry was genuine. There were other ways he could’ve handled that. Pain hadn’t left him at his best, but Ephrim had plenty of practice being diplomatic. If he’d just paused for a second, if he’d just _listened_ —

But, of course, it was different with Throndir. It was always different with Throndir.

Ephrim felt it acutely now, the way Throndir made sure to keep his distance, not even looking in Ephrim’s direction when they made camp in the evenings. It wasn’t surprising, given the way their conversation had ended, and Ephrim knew this was Throndir trying to give him space. It still hurt. It was exactly what he’d wanted in the moment, when he’d lashed out with the sharpest weapon he had, but it still hurt.

Finally, a week and a half after they left the Mark of the Erasure, they made it home. Relief flooded through Ephrim as they passed through the star shield around midday, the walls of the Last University visible in the distance. Everyone seemed in better spirits at the sight, especially Hadrian, whose excitement to see his family again was contagious.

It was hard, though, to watch Rosana and Benjamin and Blue Jay rush to meet them at the gate. Adaire’s little thief kids came running out, too, with Emmanuel a little bit slower, but clearly happy Lem had returned safe and sound. Despite the crowd who gathered to celebrate their victory, despite Corsica’s stirring speech about their heroism, all Ephrim could think was that the only person he could count as family was avoiding him, and Ephrim had done nothing but push him further away.

“This is very good for us, Ephrim,” Corsica said when she finished her speech. The cart full of dragon parts was pulled through the cheering crowd, and Ephrim grit his teeth against the ache he felt through his entire body. Almost done. Nearly there, and he could rest. “Ordenna came shortly after you all left, offering a reward for anyone who took down the creature. I’m certain they meant to do it themselves.”

Despite his pain, he managed a thin smile at that. “Seems like that’s the next item on our list, then, since we fixed Hella’s problem, too.”

Corsica nodded, as close to approval as she ever got. “We’ll plan the journey tomorrow. The sooner we deal with Fela Malle, the better.”

Of course she was right, but the thought of planning anything, even after a full night of sleep, held no appeal. But before Ephrim could answer, Corsica turned away and walked over to Red Jack, who already had a drink in his hand and a story for his rapt audience. Hadrian and Rosana had disappeared, though Benjamin and Blue Jay stayed behind to listen to Red Jack’s story, along with Hella, Adaire, and her two thieves. Possibly, if he left now, no one would notice his absence. It would give his retainers time to rest, too.

Despite knowing it would only hurt, he scanned the crowd for Throndir. Ephrim didn’t see him or Kodiak anywhere, not even with Blue Jay or Red Jack, or off to the side, watching the proceedings with amusement. Ephrim wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping for, but he was disappointed all the same. 

Sighing, he walked towards the tower, left hand pressed against the ache in his chest.

-

Although his arm still ached the next morning, it wasn’t the full body pain of the past two weeks. A long bath and restful night of sleep had helped drive away the worst of the pain, and what remained was manageable. When he entered the meeting hall after breakfast, the prospect of facing Throndir again didn’t seem quite so daunting. He sent messages to everyone requesting their presence at the war table once again, and gave Corsica a brief explanation of the Mark of the Erasure and the obvious destruction of Velas while they waited. She was grim but unsurprised, and when everyone began arriving, both she and Ephrim were quiet, lost in their own thoughts.

It didn’t them take long to decide on their next move. After giving Hadrian a few days to recover, they’d take Hella’s boat south via the river with the Ordennan, Carlay de le Carta, as their guide. Hadrian and Hella’s presence was non-negotiable, which meant both Throndir and Adaire were quick to volunteer as well. They made sense as the field team, and Corsica was satisfied with the arrangement, if not fully satisfied by their refusal to raise an army for an all-out attack. Ephrim frowned down at the table, but as he had no real argument against Throndir going, he found himself forced to agree. Maybe, if things went well in Marielda, they could finally talk.

God, Ephrim hoped things went well in Marielda.

They broke before lunch, which Ephrim took in his office while he began to catch up on the correspondence he’d missed over the past month. Most of it he put aside to handle in person: small grievances among the community, a request for funds to repair water damage in the orc’s trading house, a suggestion for possible expansion of the existing sewer system. Though obviously important, Ephrim found that addressing these concerns in person was almost always more effective, and made a mental note to attend to them as soon as he could.

For now, he pulled out a stack of blank parchment and, with a fresh pot of tea steaming beside him, began to draft a letter to Tabard. After the embarrassment of their trip to Alcyon, this letter needed to be perfect. Even if they weren’t getting any pala-din to bolster their forces, just having Alcyon as an ally would be useful. Certainly if things in Marielda went sour, it would be a necessity. If the Ordennans declared war, even Alcyon would be in danger. Perhaps _especially_ Alcyon, given the fact that magic gave them life in the first place.

After an hour, with a stack of rejected drafts sat next to him, he was almost grateful when someone knocked on his door. 

“Come in,” he called, sitting back from his most recent letter attempt. He flexed his hand, carefully placing down his pen, and was surprised when the person who appeared in his doorway wasn’t Highwater or one of Corsica’s messengers as he’d expected. 

It was Throndir, an apprehensive look on his face.

“Hey. Um. Do you have a minute?” he asked, looking at Ephrim’s desk, around the office, and finally back to Ephrim himself. “Are you—I mean, I can tell you’re busy, but is it something I can interrupt?”

Ephrim stared at him. He’d managed to convince himself that they wouldn’t talk until Throndir returned from Marielda at the earliest. Now, faced with Throndir in the doorway of his office, Ephrim wasn’t sure what to do. His mind was completely blank except for cataloguing all the things about Throndir he hadn’t allowed himself to look at during the meeting: his messy hair, the fact that he still hadn’t shaved after the trip, his loose sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the sad tension between his eyebrows. 

“It’s fine,” Ephrim finally said. He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “I could use a break.”

Throndir nodded and opened the door the rest of the way. Kodiak wasn’t with him, which was a bit of a surprise, and he closed the door once he was fully inside. “Uh, how are you?” he asked, taking a couple steps further into the room.

“Um,” Ephrim said, not quite sure how to answer that question. He shrugged. “Tired, but that’s—when are we not?”

“Yeah, of course,” Throndir said. “How’s your… arm?”

Ephrim lifted his right hand up from the desk, feeling the deep ache of it, the way the Heat and the Dark seemed to stretch up towards his shoulder, through his veins. “I don’t think it’s getting any worse,” he finally said, “but it’s definitely not getting any better, either.” He looked away from his hand and over to Throndir, who seemed absolutely miserable. Ephrim sighed and put his hand on his lap, hidden behind the desk. “Listen, Throndir, I—”

“No, you don’t have to—” Throndir started, raising his hands in front of him, clearly having realized what Ephrim was about to say.

“I do, though,” Ephrim said, talking over the rest of Throndir’s sentence. “I was angry, and honestly, I’m still a little angry. But that wasn’t how I wanted you to find out. That wasn’t what I should’ve—” He broke off, shaking his head. “It wasn’t right, and I’m sorry.” He paused, frowning again. “Are _you_ alright?”

Throndir rubbed his eyes, then dragged his hands down his face. “I’m getting there,” he said, walking over to sit in the chair in front of Ephrim’s desk. He folded his hands loosely in his lap and stared down at them, sad and exhausted. “I just wanted to apologize. Finally. I—you were right, to be mad. At first I thought I’d stay away, after—” He glanced at Ephrim’s arm, then at his face. “It was the bell, you know. Arrell set it off. After we got back to shore, I climbed up to the belltower. I didn’t want it to happen again. Found those scorch marks all over it.”

That made some sense, though Ephrim didn’t know much about the intricacies of vampires. “I didn’t think you did it on purpose. At least, I hoped you didn’t.”

“Ephrim, I would _never_ —” He leaned forward, one hand on the edge of the desk, then sighed and sat back again. “Of course it wasn’t on purpose. I just—I thought _you_ would want to avoid _me_.”

Ephrim stared at him. How Throndir came to that conclusion, Ephrim couldn’t begin to imagine. Even when he knew Throndir was the reason his arm was getting worse, even before he realized the depth of his feelings, he’d never wanted Throndir to stay away from him. Ephrim couldn’t imagine ever wanting that, even if he _wasn’t_ in love with him.

“Throndir,” Ephrim said. “How long have we known each other at this point?”

Throndir breathed out a laughed and rubbed his forehead. “Ten years that felt like thirty, I guess?”

“You should know by now,” Ephrim said quietly, “whether or not I want you around.”

Throndir looked at him, something pained in the way his eyebrows pulled together, in the tension of his jaw. His eyes moved along Ephrim’s face like he was looking for something, and then the tension began to fade from his expression, replaced by surprise. “I should?”

Beneath the desk, Ephrim’s left hand gripped the hem of his coat and he crossed his ankles, pressing them tightly together. “I don’t—” he said, looking away. His chest ached, and he shrugged. “I’m really not sure how you _couldn’t_.”

He didn’t look over, but he heard Throndir take a deep breath, followed by the sound of him standing up from the chair. 

“Before he died, Samol came and found me. Out in the cemetery,” Throndir said. “We talked about a few things, but—mostly I was surprised he left his house, down by the Buoy. It was a nice place, you know? I told him that.”

At the sound of footsteps, Ephrim turned to look at Throndir, who was moving around to his side of the desk. When he reached Ephrim, he crouched down in front of him. “He said that sometimes, things come into focus, and you realize what’s important.” Throndir shrugged one shoulder, then lifted his right hand, holding it, palm up, to Ephrim. “He didn’t have to tell me that, though. I already figured it out years ago.”

For the second time, Ephrim’s entire world shifted.

“It was miserable, you know,” Throndir said quietly, “knowing that I hurt you. Even if it was on accident. And when you said it was my fault that your arm got worse—”

Ephrim reached out with his left hand, grabbing Throndir’s. “I don’t care,” he said, desperate. “I don’t _care_.”

Throndir smiled, a little sad, threading their fingers together. “ _I_ do, though,” he said. “I would’ve understood if you didn’t want me around. I mean, I would’ve hated it, but, you know. I wouldn’t have blamed you.” He tugged a little on Ephrim’s hand, and Ephrim leaned forward, helpless to resist. “But if you do want me around, I—obviously that’s what I want, too.”

Ephrim squeezed Throndir’s hand. He never wanted to let go. “Then stop avoiding me. I’m still mad at you for that.”

“That’s probably fair,” Throndir said, but his smile grew a little wider. He stood up, pulling Ephrim along with him so they were less than a foot apart. “Can I make it up to you?”

“Maybe,” Ephrim said, barely above a whisper. This close, Ephrim wondered if Throndir could hear how fast his heart was racing. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Still holding his hand, Throndir pushed him back against the desk, leaning close enough that their knees bumped, their chests pressed together. Ephrim’s breath caught, and Throndir smiled, his other hand reaching around to the edge of the desk to box Ephrim in. Suddenly nothing mattered except for the feeling of Throndir’s body against his own. 

“You’re making some good points,” Ephrim mumbled. “Very, um, persuasive.”

Throndir laughed a little and leaned their foreheads together; Ephrim closed his eyes, and Throndir closed the last bit of distance between them. He kissed Ephrim softly, like he was scared Ephrim wouldn’t want it, like he was scared Ephrim would change his mind, just a gentle press of lips. His hand moved away from the desk to cradle the back of Ephrim’s head, fingers sliding into Ephrim’s hair, and Ephrim didn’t bother hiding a pleased hum at the sensation. 

“I love you,” Throndir said, pulling away enough to make eye contact as he brushed Ephrim’s hair back from his face. “And I couldn’t leave without—I had to at least apologize, in case I didn’t—”

“Don’t you dare,” Ephrim said, dropping Throndir’s hand to grab the collar of his shirt. “Come back safe, okay? Come _home_.”

Throndir blinked down at him for a moment, stunned, and Ephrim thought that maybe he’d said the wrong thing—but then Throndir kissed him again, firm and desperate. He reached up with his other hand for Ephrim’s face, moving him into just the right angle, and Ephrim gasped at the feeling of Throndir’s leg pressed between his. Pinned in place, Ephrim couldn’t do anything except kiss him back, fingers tangled in the front of Throndir’s shirt. He felt overwhelmed, his mind empty of every thought except the feeling of Throndir’s hands, his mouth, his body; he was grateful for the desk beneath him, keeping him upright when his knees went weak. Throndir’s thumbs traced his cheekbones, still so gentle, even as his teeth scraped against Ephrim’s lower lip.

“I didn’t really plan,” Throndir started to say, kissing the corner of his mouth, along his jaw, “I mean, I wasn’t going to—I really just wanted to apologize—” He broke off as Ephrim let go of his collar and slid his hand beneath it, fingers pressing into the muscles of Throndir’s shoulder. He should’ve taken off his glove; he should’ve taken off Throndir’s shirt.

“I don’t mind,” Ephrim said, breathless, as Throndir’s mouth moved down the side of his neck. “I _really_ don’t mind.”

“We’re in your _office_ ,” Throndir said, but he tilted Ephrim’s head to the side for better access, one hand dropping to press against Ephrim’s lower back, pushing their bodies together. “I didn’t even lock the _door_.”

Ephrim made a vaguely frustrated noise—or maybe more of a moan—it was hard to tell—and then managed to drag his hand away from Throndir’s skin. “Fine, okay, let’s _go_ , then,” he said, pushing at Throndir’s chest. Throndir moved back, his eyes focused regretfully on Ephrim’s neck, and it took him another few seconds to pull his hands away.

“I should also finish packing,” Throndir said, with absolutely no conviction, and Ephrim rolled his eyes as he straightened out his clothes.

“You have two and a half days until you leave,” Ephrim said. He closed the open ink well that was still on his desk, put the pen back in its case, and shoved all the drafted letters into a drawer to deal with later. “And you don’t eat.”

“But _Kodiak_ does,” Throndir said. “Also, I don’t know how long Blue Jay’s gonna be able to keep him busy. They said they didn’t mind, but—”

“I was wondering where he was.” Ephrim took Throndir’s hand and towed him out of the office towards the stairs; Throndir made no actual objections, staying close to Ephrim’s side. “I’m sure it’s fine. Their fox likes him, right? Anyway, they’re probably just watching Benjamin study or whatever they do on dates.”

He looked back at Throndir as they reached the landing that led to Ephrim’s quarters, at the conflicted look on his face, and sighed.

“Throndir, if you really don’t want—” he started, but his words were cut off when Throndir leaned in to kiss him.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Throndir said, still holding Ephrim’s left hand, cupping his jaw with the other. “I just—I get in my own head a lot.”

“Well, stop,” Ephrim said, raising an eyebrow. “We have two days, and I love you, and the world is ending. I think we deserve this, yeah?”

Throndir stared down at him, a smile growing on his face. “No joke,” he said as he moved his hand from Ephrim’s face to around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug, “I’ve wanted to hear you say that for _years_.”

Ephrim laughed lightly and leaned into Throndir, letting him carry some of his weight; an appropriate metaphor, Ephrim couldn’t help but think, given Throndir had been doing that since they’d first set foot on the grounds of the University. He turned his head and kissed Throndir’s jaw, the only spot of skin he could reach. “Which part?”

“All of it,” Throndir mumbled against Ephrim’s hair. “Just—all of it.”

Probably they should go into Ephrim’s quarters; at the very least they should move out of the stairwell. Someone was bound to come by, and while he didn’t really care if someone saw, they _were_ blocking the way. Still, Ephrim didn’t push, just closed his eyes and let Throndir hold him. After weeks of being so far apart, it was a relief to be this close, to smell the combination of dirt and gunpowder on Throndir’s clothes, to feel the strength in his arms. Ephrim’s heart pounded heavy in his chest with anticipation, but he felt strangely calm, too, and so, so happy. 

“Come on,” he said, squeezing Throndir’s hand. “Come inside.”

He felt Throndir nod and then he pulled away, letting Ephrim lead him out of the stairwell and into his quarters. The room still looked relatively untouched after weeks of travel: his desk was clear of letters, no precarious stack of books beside his bed, and with Throndir here, Ephrim suddenly felt like he was looking at it all with new eyes. Everything seemed strangely impersonal, as if he hadn’t been living here for a decade, and he wondered what that said about him.

Throndir shut the door behind them, and Ephrim heard the lock click into place as he turned around, planning to say something—but Throndir was looking at him like there wasn’t anything else in the world, and his words got caught in his throat. He’d never—Ephrim was pretty sure no one had ever looked at him like that before.

“What’s that look for?” Ephrim asked as Throndir stepped back into his space, his hands resting on Ephrim’s hips.

“Just thinking how lucky I am,” Throndir said, smiling when Ephrim’s arms came up around his shoulders. “You’re smart and pretty and I’m just a weird dead elf-goblin from the sticks.”

Ephrim snorted, unimpressed. “Okay, well, if you think _that_ ,” he said, “then I’m _definitely_ smarter than you.” He pushed up on his toes to kiss the corner of Throndir’s mouth, smiling a little. “Should I list everything I love about you? Is that what you need?”

“Uh,” Throndir managed, “no, that’s—I mean, I wasn’t asking—”

“I know,” Ephrim said, and started pulling Throndir back towards the bed, a smirk on his face. Throndir looked stunned, which, in Ephrim’s opinion, was both very cute and wonderfully vindicating. “That’s kind of the point. Help me take this off.” He shrugged his right shoulder, and Throndir nodded, reaching up to unclasp Ephrim’s cape. “Coat next. Leave them on the floor, it’s fine.”

The cape barely made a sound as it fell, the buckles of the coat a bit louder as they hit the wood planks. Throndir’s gaze followed his movements as Ephrim tugged off his left glove and dropped it to the floor, too, and when he hesitated over his right glove, Throndir reached up, wrapping his hand around Ephrim’s left wrist. He didn’t exert pressure, just brushed the inside of Ephrim’s wrist with his thumb, his callous rough against soft skin.

“I don’t mind,” Throndir said, leaning their foreheads together. “If you want me to see, or not—whatever you want.”

“It’s—” Ephrim started, mouth twisting. He didn’t like to look at it, the strange, empty appearance a constant reminder of why his body didn’t always work. He compensated as best he could, and if he was careful, it wouldn’t ever harm anyone else, but a part of him still grieved what he lost, even after all these years. Ephrim closed his eyes for a moment, then lifted up his right hand and held it between them. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can cover it back up.”

Throndir smiled, crooked and a little sad, and carefully began to tug Ephrim’s glove off for him. “Nothing,” he said, leaning close to Ephrim’s ear, “about you,” and he ghosted a kiss against the side of Ephrim’s neck, “could ever make me uncomfortable.” He finished pulling off Ephrim’s glove and dropped it to the floor, then put a hand on his upper arm, directing Ephrim to wrap his arm back around Throndir’s shoulders. “Do you remember when we got stuck in that storm?”

Ephrim took a shaky breath, overwhelmed, as Throndir’s teeth scraped against his skin. “Yes,” he said, his left hand sliding beneath the collar of Throndir’s shirt to finally touch skin.

“Really didn’t appreciate that the way I should’ve. I’m looking forward to making up for it,” Throndir said. His hands dipped beneath the hem of Ephrim’s shirt, fingertips brushing skin. “So? What next?”

“My shirt,” Ephrim managed, despite the growing heat throughout his body, his stomach, every spot where Throndir touched him. “Buttons in the back.”

“How’d you even get that on?” Throndir asked with a teasing laugh, but pulled away so Ephrim could turn around. He slid Ephrim’s hair over his shoulder and began to undo the buttons, kissing the exposed skin as he went. Ephrim shivered, both from the cool air and Throndir’s lips. He didn’t know how long he could take this; he already felt like he might explode. Throndir’s hands moved further down Ephrim’s back, knuckles brushing against skin, and he buried his face against Ephrim’s shoulder, like he couldn’t stand putting any distance between them. Ephrim sighed and reached up with his left hand to trace the pointed edge of Throndir’s ear, and he felt it all along his back when Throndir shuddered.

“You can help me next time,” Ephrim said, smiling at the conflicted noise that got him in reply. “And then you can take it off again that night.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Throndir mumbled as he finished the last button. His hands slid up Ephrim’s back and over his shoulders, pushing the shirt off as he went. Ephrim carefully pulled it down his right arm, revealing the strange dark nothing that crept above his elbow. He couldn’t help but make a face at it, hair falling in front of his eyes as he looked down. For a moment, he wondered if this was a good idea—if he should’ve kept Throndir at a distance—who knew how long Throndir would survive as a vampire, while Ephrim slowly wasted away. But the thought of giving this up, especially now that he knew what he’d been missing, somehow hurt even more.

Throndir’s hand slid down his left arm, pushing the shirt off the rest of the way. It fell to the floor with the other pieces of clothing, and Ephrim turned around to face Throndir again, left hand reaching up to touch the side of Throndir’s neck, underneath his jaw. Even without a heartbeat, he could feel the restrained tension in Throndir’s muscles, the focus in his eyes. The way he tilted his head immediately, allowing Ephrim to do exactly what he wanted.

“My boots,” Ephrim said, scratching his nail lightly on stubble, smiling again when Throndir’s hands tightened at his hips. He nodded, and nudged Ephrim back until he could sit on the edge of the bed. Then he crouched down, undoing the laces with a steadiness Ephrim didn’t think he could’ve managed himself. As Throndir tugged off his boots and socks, Ephrim’s hand tightened in his blanket in anticipation, twisting the fabric between his fingers.

“Do I get to take off your pants this time?” Throndir asked, one hand behind Ephrim’s knee, the other slightly higher. “I’m happy to help.”

“You better,” Ephrim said, pressing his foot to Throndir’s chest. He raised one eyebrow as Throndir grinned, then reached down to undo the buckles himself. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Throndir watched him for a moment, then stood back up to lean over him, one knee on the bed. He kissed along Ephrim’s collarbone as he pushed off his pants and underwear, and Ephrim shivered at how different Throndir’s hands felt compared to his own, calloused and big and strong, wide enough to wrap around the side of his thigh. He’d always known Throndir was bigger than he was, but he’d never felt it so acutely before, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d like it. He pressed his hand to his mouth as Throndir moved his legs up to slide his pants over his knees, unable to stop the soft whine that escaped when Throndir’s fingers slid across the back of his thigh.

“ _God_ ,” Throndir breathed, awestruck, as Ephrim’s pants fell to the floor. “You’re so—”

“Frail?” Ephrim said, unable to stop himself. He pulled Throndir down to lay on top of him, his face hidden against the side of Throndir’s neck. He liked the way Throndir covered him entirely, how safe he felt, how cared for. “Sickly?”

“Don’t—no, hey,” Throndir said, pushing up onto his elbows to look down at Ephrim. His face was serious and a little sad, and Ephrim turned his head to the side. Ephrim was well aware of what he looked like. Years of not enough food, and illness, and his arm being slowly consumed hadn’t left him at his best. 

Throndir didn’t say anything else, though, just watched him, waiting for something, though Ephrim didn’t know what. Finally, he pushed himself up and off the bed, tugging off his shirt as he went. Ephrim stared at the sudden expanse of brown skin, the freckles on his shoulders, the curve of his stomach, barely aware Throndir was taking off his boots until they thumped against the floor. His pants were next, joining the pile next to Ephrim’s bed, and Ephrim felt himself—embarrassingly—blush even more. Throndir ducked back down to kiss his cheek, trailing his hands across Ephrim’s ribs. 

“Let me show you,” he said, “what I think, okay?”

Ephrim slowly moved his hand along Throndir’s shoulders, tracing the curves of muscles with his fingertips. Then he pulled away, nudging Throndir off him enough so he could move to a better spot on the bed. He looked at Throndir, at the surety in his gaze, the soft smile on his lips, and held out his hand. “Then show me.”

“Where do I even _start_?” Throndir groaned, taking Ephrim’s hand again as he moved up after him. Ephrim narrowed his eyes and tilted up his chin, and Throndir shot him a grin, clearly aware he was being ridiculous, even as his other hand slid up Ephrim’s thigh, a tease. “I can’t even—I mean, I tried not to think about—” His hand slid higher, then curled around the back, and Ephrim let out a shaky breath. “But it’s hard, you know,” Throndir continued, pressing Ephrim’s legs apart as he leaned forward to kiss the side of his neck. Ephrim’s head fell back, his hair tangling against the pillow, and he felt Throndir smile against his skin. “It’s hard when you’re always around, and you’re just—you’re beautiful, Ephrim.” Their hips pressed together and Ephrim whined, squeezing Throndir’s hand. Throndir kissed his shoulder, then the inside of his upper arm—his right arm—and Ephrim jolted, surprised by how sensitive that spot was.

“What,” Ephrim started, breathless, breaking off as Throndir moved back to his shoulder, his collarbone, down his chest. “What did you think about?”

Throndir dropped his hand, ghosting his fingers down Ephrim’s side until they came to rest on his hips. “Honestly? Mostly just getting your clothes off,” he said, and lightly kissed the spot above Ephrim’s racing heart. “Kissing you. How much you’d blush—” Ephrim dug his nails into Throndir’s shoulder at that, and felt him smile again. “How easy it would be to keep you right where I want you.”

Throndir’s grip tightened and he pressed Ephrim’s hips against the bed; a wave of heat coursed through Ephrim’s entire body when he realized he was pinned in place, as easy as that. He couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but dig his fingers into Throndir’s back as Throndir rolled his hips against Ephrim’s, his face pressed against Ephrim’s shoulder, and Ephrim let out a broken yell at the overwhelming combination of sensations. He forced himself to keep his right arm down on the bed, but his fingers twitched into half-clenched fists, little pinpricks of pain coursing through his hand, only serving to sharpen the pleasure of everything else.

“I know,” Throndir said, his voice rough and low and unsteady, “that you’re not as delicate as you look. But still—” He held Ephrim in place as he pressed them together, hips finding a rhythm.

Ephrim whimpered, barely aware of the sounds he was making. He hooked one leg around Throndir, toes curling, wanting, needing, desperate to be somehow even closer. He hadn’t thought this would be enough to get him off, but now he wasn’t sure: Throndir’s hands, his strength, the feeling of them pressed together and the sound of Throndir’s voice, so clearly wrecked by everything as much as Ephrim was. He wanted more—of course he wanted more—hands and fingers and mouths, to trace every inch of Throndir’s body with his lips—but it had been an age since anyone touched him like this, and he’d never loved anyone the way he loved Throndir. Even this, nothing but the heat and closeness of their bodies, desperately moving together, had Ephrim at the edge.

“Throndir,” he gasped, his hand moving from Throndir’s shoulder to the back of his neck, the back of his head. “Throndir, _please_.”

“What?” Throndir asked, lifting his head to press a kiss to Ephrim’s jaw and then the corner of his mouth. “Tell me what you need.”

Ephrim touched his face, the curve of his eyebrow, his cheekbone, then wrapped his arm around Throndir’s back again. “ _Touch_ me,” he said.

Throndir’s thumbs moved across his skin, but his grip didn’t lessen. “You sure this isn’t enough?” he said, watching Ephrim’s face, and never before had Ephrim been so jealous of the fact that Throndir technically didn’t need to breathe. “It feels,” he continued, and one hand did finally move, but only to hold onto the back of Ephrim’s trembling thigh, pushing his knee further up, holding him even more in place, “like it might be enough.”

“ _God_ ,” Ephrim said, half a moan, his nails digging into the muscles of Throndir’s back. “You’re so—”

“Come on,” Throndir said, kissing his face, his lips, anywhere he could reach. “I got you.”

It shouldn’t have been enough—Ephrim really hadn’t thought it would be enough—so he was surprised when it _was_ , all his muscles tensing, his hold on Throndir tightening, and he came between them with a sharp yell. He heard Throndir mumble, “oh, _fuck_ ,” against his cheek, his rhythm faltering, fingers digging into Ephrim’s thigh, and he followed Ephrim a moment later, a shudder running through his body. Ephrim moved his hand into Throndir’s hair, lazily running his fingers through the curls as he caught his breath.

After a moment, Throndir rolled over to lay next to him, his hand on Ephrim’s thigh, slowly moving his fingers back and forth across the skin like he didn’t want to break contact for even a second. Despite the way his muscles still felt weak and tingly, Ephrim pushed himself up on his elbow, looking down at Throndir, narrowing his eyes just a bit. Ephrim hadn’t known what to expect, but he it certainly hadn’t been _that_. Not that he was complaining. Throndir’s eyes were closed, but he cracked one open with a half-smile when Ephrim moved.

“What?” he said, his smile widening when Ephrim sat up more and slung a leg over Throndir’s hips. He put his hand on Throndir’s cheek and leaned down to kiss him, hair falling over one shoulder, and Throndir twisted it around his fingers, tugging gently, teasingly.

“I love you,” Ephrim said, laying across Throndir’s chest. “I don’t know what’ll happen next, with my arm, or in Marielda, or—or when Hieron finally collapses. But I want you with me, okay?”

Throndir looked at him, his expression softening, and he pushed some of Ephrim’s hair behind his ear. “You sure?” he said, wrapping his arms around Ephrim’s waist. “I’m pretty stupid sometimes. You could probably do better.”

Ephrim hummed and tapped his fingers against Throndir’s collarbone. “Maybe,” he said. “But I’m not interested in anyone else.” He sat up, hand on Throndir’s chest, settling his weight more firmly on Throndir’s lap. Throndir’s gaze moved down, then back up to his face, then down again, and Ephrim raised an eyebrow, putting on the most lordly expression he could manage. “You know, I’ve thought about this, too.”

“Yeah?” Throndir asked, his hands settling back on Ephrim’s hips.

“Two days really isn’t enough time,” Ephrim said, smirking at Throndir’s expression as he trailed his hand down Throndir’s chest and stomach. “But I guess it’ll have to be enough until you get back.”

-

The morning Throndir was set to leave for Marielda, Ephrim woke alone in his bed. He’d expected it—Throndir had told him, the night before, that he’d have to leave to finally finish packing—but the reminder of their separation still made his stomach tighten with nerves. Who knew what Impetor Malle had done to Marielda; who knew what would happen when they arrived to claim their reward. Throndir had said he’d be fine despite all the Ordennan steel, as long as he didn’t actually get hurt by it, but Throndir had never been around such a large amount. The sheer volume that would be in an Ordennan city, even a newly claimed one, had to be massive, and who knew what damage that could cause.

He sat up and looked around the room, sighing at himself. There was work he needed to do, and it would take him some time just to look presentable. His hair, for example, was a mess: he ran his fingers through it, wincing at the knots, and shifted to sit cross-legged with the blankets pooled around his waist. Judging by the light peeking through a crack in the curtains, it was early enough that he didn’t have to get up just yet, and he let his thoughts wander as he attempted to smooth out his hair, staring at the smoldering embers of the fireplace, gaze unfocused.

A quiet knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. It opened before he could say anything, Kodiak’s nose poking through first, followed by the rest of him as it opened wider, and then, finally, it opened enough to reveal Throndir, too. 

“Hey,” he said softly, closing the door behind him. Kodiak, who’d been incredibly patient with them the past couple of days, put his chin on the bed, tail wagging. “I just wanted—we’re leaving soon, but I didn’t want to go without—”

Throndir broke off, sighing, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Ephrim stopped scratching Kodiak’s head to grab the collar of Throndir’s shirt, tugging him close. When they kissed, there was an edge of desperation, neither of them wanting to voice their fears. Neither of them wanting to admit it might be the last time they did this.

“Come home safe,” Ephrim said, repeating his words from two days ago, their foreheads pressed together. Throndir put his hands on Ephrim’s cheeks, tracing the lines of his face, looking at Ephrim like he was trying to memorize him, like he was the only thing that mattered. _Please come home safe_ , Ephrim thought.

Throndir kissed him again, slow and careful, and Ephrim’s chest tightened, a helpless noise escaping into Throndir’s mouth. It really wasn’t fair that they were always the ones risking their lives for the world. When would they be allowed some selfishness? When would they get to rest?

“We’ll come back as soon as we can,” Throndir said, kissing him once, twice, pulling back for a moment before giving in and kissing him one more time, just a firm press of lips. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Ephrim said, forcing himself to let go of Throndir’s shirt. “Keep an eye on him, okay, Kodiak? Make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid.”

Kodiak barked, jumping half onto the bed to lick Ephrim before he could react or defend himself. Throndir laughed and stood up from the bed, two fingertips lingering on Ephrim’s cheek. Kodiak nudged at Ephrim’s face, and Ephrim wrapped his arm around Kodiak’s neck in a quick, tight hug, before the dog followed Throndir.

“See you soon,” Throndir said, pausing after he opened the door. Kodiak squeezed past him and out into the hallway, but Throndir looked back at Ephrim. They watched each other, and Ephrim knew Throndir wished he could stay just as much as Ephrim did.

“Kill Malle for me,” Ephrim said, managing the ghost of a smile.

“Romantic,” Throndir teased, smiling back. “I’ll try my best.”

-

-

-

_Year 15 —_

Throndir readjusted his hold on the books as he pulled the door of the library shut behind him, flipping the sign from ‘HI, WE ARE OPEN’ to ‘GONE HOME FOR THE DAY.’ It was earlier than he usually left, but there hadn’t been a lot of visitors, and he’d managed to finish cataloguing the recent shipment of books from Velas. With no urgent work left, he figured he might as well go home. Not that it mattered whether he was in the building or not: he never locked the door, so technically people could stop by whenever they wanted. Of course, no one except Lem took advantage of that, since it was difficult to find anything among the increasingly full stacks without some help, but the option was always there.

Some of the suns in the sky had shifted behind branches and leaves, but enough were still bright and visible to warm his skin as he walked down the bustling streets of the Last University. Many things had changed over the years, but some were still the same: the screaming children playing tag while their parents called them home to eat; the mothkin hovering above them, shrouded in layers of fine silk to protect them from the light; halfling merchants closing up shop, or sometimes opening, depending on their wares. Even in this new and sometimes hostile world, life found a way to continue; people found ways to be happy. Certainly that was true for him.

He took his time walking home, enjoying the sun and the light breeze and the relatively low amount of pollen, and his mood was high when he turned down the path that led to their cottage. 

The front door was propped open, but Throndir knew better than to check inside. Instead, he walked around to the back, following the scent of flowers. Over the past few months, all the plants surrounding the small cottage had grown tall and healthy, but the garden was the true accomplishment. Flowering vines crawled up a pergola off the back of the house to create a shaded sitting area, and everything from raised beds to seemingly wild vegetable patches spiraled between strips of moss and strange fruit trees. Nothing like this would’ve been possible back on Hieron, and Throndir had a feeling it was probably still impossible on the Rhizome for anyone other than Ephrim.

Crouched in front of one of the newer plants in the center of it all was Ephrim, delicately touching the stem of a flower that hadn’t yet bloomed. His long hair was pulled back off his neck in a messy bun, his clothes casual and stained with dirt, and he was wearing the old work gloves Throndir made for him years ago. They were ragged at the wrists and covered in patches, but every time Throndir offered to remake them, he received a glare in response. Kodiak slept nearby in a patch of sun, his paws occasionally twitching as he chased after some dream creature. Throndir paused at the gate, his hand resting on the wood. Ephrim whispered something to the plant, and then, slowly, the flower bud began to open. Soft pink petals unfurled, a cascade of color, tumbling down into a long, dangling blossom unlike anything Throndir had ever seen. 

Although Ephrim’s arm would never be the same, Ephrim’s connection with the New Spring had kept it from getting any worse. As time passed, his health had improved as well: he looked less tired now, less gaunt, the dark circles beneath his eyes fading away as his cheeks regained color. Throndir watched as Ephrim smiled down at the flower, wide and contagious and so unbelievably beautiful. Really, Throndir thought, he was the luckiest person on this whole giant, magical tree. 

He shifted the books again and pushed the gate open. Instantly, Kodiak sat up, ears perked and tail wagging. He barked a greeting, scrambling to his feet, and Ephrim turned around, his smile softening to something sweet and fond when he caught sight of Throndir. 

“Hey,” Throndir said, the gate creaking shut behind him.

“Hi,” Ephrim said, tugging off his left glove, still smiling. “Welcome home.” 

When Throndir was close enough, he reached up with his now bare hand to touch Throndir’s jaw. Throndir leaned down to kiss him, his free hand sliding around Ephrim’s waist in a well-worn routine, but not one either of them would ever grow tired of. Ephrim’s fingers danced along the edge of Throndir’s ear, then slid back into his curls, holding him close as Throndir deepened the kiss. He would’ve kept kissing Ephrim for longer—for as long as possible, really—except Kodiak leaned all his weight on Throndir’s legs, and Throndir stumbled a bit, breaking the kiss. 

“God, okay, sorry Kodiak,” Throndir said while Ephrim laughed at them both. “Hey buddy, what’s up?” He sat down on the moss, laughing when the dog headbutted his shoulder. “You’re the one who never wants to leave the garden anymore! Don’t act like I abandoned you.”

Kodiak huffed and laid down on Throndir’s lap, and Ephrim snorted as he sat down next to them both. “He’s such a baby,” Ephrim said. “If he had his way, we’d all just stay here together and never leave.”

“Not that I don’t think that sounds great,” Throndir said as he passed Ephrim the books, “but I do have, like, responsibilities. The order from Velas came in.”

Ephrim perked up, clearly excited, and Throndir grinned as he began flipping through the first of the two books. He kept his right hand resting in his lap, occasionally pausing to reach up with his left hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Throndir watched as the strand fell back in front of his eyes and the process repeated; although Throndir’s heart didn't beat anymore, he still felt warmth bloom in his chest, an unbelievable fondness for the man sitting next to him. 

“They’re history books,” Throndir said, tucking his chin over Ephrim’s shoulder as he continued to pet Kodiak. “One’s got changes from Galenica’s reconfiguration. The other one’s new. They just printed it. I thought you’d be interested in the differences.”

Ephrim didn’t say anything, skimming through the pages for another minute, and then he paused to look at Throndir. 

In the weeks after Benjamin revealed the Understanding to the University, they’d argued more than they had in over a year. It wasn’t that Throndir didn’t understand making difficult decisions; it wasn’t even that he thought Ephrim was necessarily _wrong_. Doing something to help people see just how awful reconfiguration was—could be—especially when they didn’t know what it would mean regarding the Heat and the Dark—a valid argument. But hiding it, lying about it, tricking people… He’d hoped, at least, that they could discuss these sorts things with each other, if not with the rest of the University. He’d hoped they were past keeping secrets.

But Throndir hadn’t left; of course he hadn’t left. He hadn’t even thought about leaving. He’d learned, over the months since Hieron had collapsed and the Rhizome had come into being, that it was okay to just help people. That it was okay to support his community and his home and the person he loved.

When Ephrim made the decision to step down, they spoke about everything again, a long conversation in the dark of their bedroom, Ephrim curled up on Throndir’s chest. They talked about the gods, and how much Ephrim still feared being manipulated by them, even a decade after he’d killed Samothes, even with all but one gone. They talked about what it would mean if Galenica remade the world, and what might happen to Ephrim’s arm if the Heat and the Dark returned, and what would happen to the Spring if they became the foundation for a new Hieron. 

Throndir didn’t have the answers to any of their questions, but by the time Ephrim finally fell asleep, he thought he understood Ephrim’s motivations a little more. And in the morning, by unspoken agreement, they hadn’t talked about reconfiguration again.

“It’s been five years,” Throndir said, reaching up to tuck that stray piece of hair behind Ephrim’s ear. “I just—I really don’t care anymore. No matter what happens—”

Ephrim kissed him, cutting off the rest of his sentence. Books abandoned, Ephrim wrapped his arms around Throndir’s shoulders, shifting closer. Kodiak huffed again but moved to lay on the ground, pressed against Throndir’s side, and Throndir smiled into the kiss as Ephrim climbed onto his lap.

“No matter what happens, we’ll be together,” Ephrim said, kissing the corner of Throndir’s mouth, his cheek, just beside his eye. “Right?”

“Yeah. Always.” Throndir tightened his hold around Ephrim’s waist. “Hey. You ever think about being a vampire?”

Ephrim stared down at him, expression blank aside from a slight widening of his eyes. “Did you—” He paused, blinked twice, and then a smile started growing on his face. “Did you just propose to me?”

“I mean, no,” Throndir said. “But like, kinda? I mean—”

Laughing, Ephrim kissed him again and again as Throndir tugged them both back to lay on the moss. “We can talk about it,” Ephrim said, leaning above Throndir, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “Thank you for the books.”

“You’re welcome,” Throndir said, unable to stop smiling. “I’m just saying, you’d be a really hot vampire.”

Ephrim rolled his eyes, laying down half on top of Throndir, head resting on his shoulder. “I’ll take your opinion into consideration.”

Throndir closed his eyes and ran his hand up and down Ephrim’s spine. Kodiak had gone back to sleep beside them, and a breeze blew through the garden, the rustling of the leaves making a living song. Above them, the suns continued to shine, proof that they’d survived. As long as they continued to survive, together, Throndir was ready for whatever came next.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [On Solid Ground](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27725654) by [engine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/engine/pseuds/engine)




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